


We Shall Rule

by demonsonthemoon



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: (there's some discussion/description of stuff related to that like physical therarpy, Agender Kate Bishop, Akoiro Clint Barton, Akoiromantic character, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Arospec character, Caedro Bucky Barnes, Canon Deaf Character, Canon Disabled Character, M/M, Nonbinary Character, Panic Attack, Sexual Content, Slow Burn, Trans Character, Trans Steve Rogers, also some discussion of that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-21
Updated: 2018-06-28
Packaged: 2018-11-17 00:10:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 57,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11263914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demonsonthemoon/pseuds/demonsonthemoon
Summary: Bucky Barnes is slowly recovering from trauma and trying to start a having a normal life once more. Then he meets Clint, a new variable that intrigues him in a way he can't quite name.This is a story of people learning to know each others and themselves, navigating identity and relationships, overcoming trauma and trust issues. It's a story about life.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for #AggressivelyArospecWeek 2017. Currently a work in progress, so I'll post the first two chapters during the week, and then I'll try to post one chapter a month.
> 
> More tags will appear as the story progresses.

As soon as he entered the bar, Bucky asked himself what he was doing there. The place wasn't packed, which was a relief, but there was still a bit of a crowd. The walls were painted in a dark color impossible to recognize under the dim lighting of the room. A couple of couches were standing in one corner, some fairy lights hanging above them. There were two small tables with a few chairs in the same corner. None of this was what bothered Bucky.

The speakers were turned up at full volume and blasting some 00's Britney Spears song. And most people at the bar seemed to be ordering cocktails, either already drunk or desperately trying to get there.

Bucky would happily have joined the last group if he hadn't gotten sober because of his meds. Steve turned towards him as the small group they formed with Natasha and Sam approached the bar. He didn't seem a lot more at ease than Bucky, and smiled apologetically. “I know the music is a bit...”

“Stereotypical?”

Steve huffed out a laugh. “That's one way to put it, yeah.”

“Don't worry about it, I'll be fine.” He forced his face into a relaxed smile, and Steve seemed content enough to leave it at that.

If Bucky survived the night, he was going to make it clear to Natasha that she owed him big time. He knew that her girlfriend was on the committee that was organizing the party, and that she had dragged them here to be good friends and show support, but still. He walked up to the bar and greeted Jessica, who was already handing Nat a beer and Sam a pink cocktail.

“Hey! Bucky, Steve! It's so nice to see you here! Can I get you guys anything?”

“Just a coke, thanks,” Bucky said.

“Same for me,” added Steve.

Jess immediately bent down to retrieve their drinks in a small fridge, and pocketed their change. She excused herself to attend another client, assuring them she would be back in a sec. Sam and Natasha were greeting a few people they already knew, so Bucky turned back to Steve. He tilted his head to indicate Steve's bottle. “You can drink alcohol, you know. I won't mind.”

Steve shrugged. “Maybe later, but I'm not really in the mood for it anyway.”

“Though maybe don't drink as much as these two,” Bucky said, gesturing at two guys who were sloppily grinding into each other, trying to follow the rhythm of the music, although obviously not trying hard. “or I might just have to put the video on YouTube.” Steve punched him in the arm, but hit his prosthesis. He probably hurt himself more than Bucky.

Natasha and Sam turned back towards them just in time for Jess to come back to their group. “Busy night?” Sam asked her, as another bartender maneuvered around her to get to the beer pumps.

Jess shrugged. “Starting to get busier. But my first shift is almost ending, and I won't have anything to do until closing time after that.”

“Well, except for keeping me entertained, of course,” Natasha said. The two women shared a knowing smile at that, before Jess turned around to pour a glass of beer for someone.

The whole group settled into easy conversation, and Bucky slowly learned to tune out the loud music, focusing on his friends' words instead. A few minutes before Jess finished her shifts, they moved to a table that had freed up, tired of being jostled by people trying to get to the bar. Next to their table was the corner with the couches, on which a mismatched group was sitting, all nursing drinks and talking somewhat passionately. Bucky tuned them out too.

He focused on his breathing. The darkness and warmth of the place were unsettling, making his stomach twist slightly. He let the conversation happen around him instead of participating in it. Steve shot him a worried glance at one point, but Bucky just smiled, relaxed. He offered to get his friends' some drinks, and Sam stood up with him to help.

Both of them cringed as one of the people dancing nearly elbowed Sam in the sternum. He was still rolling his eyes when they reached the bar and placed their order. “Someone oughta teach these people how to dance.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow with a smirk. “Are you offering your services?”

Sam eyed him up and down, a considering expression on his face. Bucky opened his arms and twirled.

“Okay Barnes, you're on. Let's take these drinks back home and we'll see what you've got in you.”

Bucky laughed openly. They dropped off the tray of drinks, and he only had the time to take one sip of his coke before Sam pulled him by the elbow and dragged him away, a mischievous smile on his lips. Once on the dancefloor – which consisted of a few square meters without any tables on which people were more trying not to accidentally punch each other than actually dancing – Bucky had to admit that the music at least had enough of a rhythm to be danced to. He also found out it was less tiring to listen to when you didn't have to make the effort of understanding a conversation at the same time.

So Sam pulled him by the hand and started moving his body to the rhythm. The song playing was coming to an end, and he danced in a mostly restrained way throughout. Then a new tune started, something that Bucky could vaguely recognized as salsa-inspired in a way that wasn't very clear through the layers of autotune. Sam grabbed him by both hands, easily sliding his fingers between the clutch of Bucky's prosthesis, and started leading the dance, surprising Bucky as he started to make him twirl under his arms, even though they were pretty much the same height and Bucky was wider than him. Bucky lead for the next dance, and they had fun with it, quickly attracting the gaze of onlookers. Although their choreography was much less suggestive than the grinding of some other couples, they did make a striking pair. Bucky forgot to be self-conscious. It was like they were dancing a private joke and others couldn't help but want in on it.

They stopped after two and a half dance, the warmth of the room getting to them as they started to feel the thirst that had made them get drinks in the first place.

As they made their way back, Bucky caught the gaze of one of the guys sitting in the group next to theirs. The man grinned at him, apparently unashamed that he had been caught staring. Bucky looked away, not sure how he felt about the attention.

Steve of course welcomed them back with a bright smile, and Bucky felt slightly embarrassed about it as he sat down next to his friend. He felt like his mama had just pinched his cheek to tell him how proud of him he was. And sure, Bucky was proud of himself too, but that wasn't the point.

He raised his coke to Sam and downed half of it as Steve went back to the conversation he'd been having with Jess and Nat.

And Bucky went back to his prior state of calm.

He was only half-heartedly participating in the conversation when he heard the talk in the sofas behind him getting louder.

“Are you seriously gonna start with the gate-keeping bullshit now?” A male voice, tone slightly exasperated. “In front of me, while we're supposed to be out for a good time?”

There was a quick and sharp response followed by cold laughter, and Bucky wasn't able to catch the next few sentences.

“Don't even try to drag me into this conversation, Loki, because I won't be on your side.” It was a higher-pitched voice this time. “Like, I'm bi and nonbinary. I know how this crap goes, I've been on the other side of it. You might think you're oh-so-original by being bigoted and hiding it under a thin layer of queer theory, but this shit's been done and re-done before. It's always the same arguments and it boils down to the fact that you'd rather be an asshole and exclude people from a safe space that they need, before you confront the fact that people can face different types of oppression than you and still be part of a community that's always been more defined by the fact it welcomed people that didn't belong anywhere else than by the list of identities it included.” She stopped after that, probably getting her breathing back after what had been a pretty long tirade.

“You talk about oppression, and oppression is exactly what the queer community” Bucky could almost imagined who he assumed was a man making air quotes around the two words. “was based on. But by ignoring the historical ideals that brought people together in the first place and insinuating that 'everyone belongs', you're just opening the gate for every single made-up identity to claim space by pretending they're oppressed because someone was mean to them once. I mean, let's be serious, I've never heard of one asexual person dying during the AIDS crisis.”

Bucky involuntarily rolled his eyes, which got him a few looks from his friends around him. Which he should actually be listening to. He tried to re-engage in the conversation going on in front of him, but the back of his mind was always drifting back to what he could hear behind him.

“Did you die in the AIDS crisis, Loki?” It was the first man's voice again. “'Cause if I had known, I would have sent your brother some flowers.”

“Don't drag him into this, Clint. And you know exactly what I mean. What example do you have of the oppression you think you face?”

“Dude, I'm not even asexual, get your facts fucking right. But like, on the top of my head? Corrective rape is a thing that still happens. So are assholes like you that try to police how others identify. The fact that asexuality is listed in the DSM if you don't self-identify is also a pretty big thing.”

“You call that a big thing? People want to have sexual desire.”

“Oh my god, Kate, can I punch him?” The man didn't wait for a reply and went on. “They want that because every-fucking-body tells them that's what they should want. Just as there are lots of closeted gay people who want to be straight. I can't fucking deal with the fact you actually believe in what you're saying right now. I'm walking out on this. I'll be outside; once you get the fucking stick out of your ass, you can come find me, if getting it out doesn't do too much damage to your pride. Since you've obviously got more of it than brains.”

“Yeah, right, you just go and pretend that the fact you don't want sex somehow makes you a special snowflake and your life’s the hardest thing on earth.”

“I've told you I'm not fucking asexual, Loki. I'm on the aromantic spectrum. Not the same thing. Also, I don't want your pity. You probably couldn't give it anyway since you're busy pouring it all over yourself. Grow up.”

The man stood up and walked out. Bucky couldn't help but turn and follow him with his gaze. He noticed it was the same blond guy that had been looking at him while he danced with Sam.

“Hey, Buck, you okay?” Steve asked next to him, a note of concern in his voice though he was trying to be casual about it.

“Me? Yeah. 'm fine. I'm just gonna go for a smoke if that's okay? It's a bit stuffy in here, I need to get some air.”

“Sure, yeah. Uh, see you.”

Bucky didn't reply, simply grabbing his jacket and walking out. He was following his impulse more than his reason, but hey. His therapist always told him he should try to take small steps out of his comfort zone from time to time. This was something he could do, right? Spend the evening at a gay bar and talk to strangers. Totally a good idea.

The fresh air hit him in the face in an almost painful way. He shivered as he slipped into his jacket, looking around for a few seconds before he noticed the blond man leaning against the wall on the other side of the street. He took a cigarette from his pocket and approached the stranger in his best nonchalant attitude. “Do you have a light?”

It was a cheap line, but it was the only way he could think of to approach the man without seeming like a creeper. Of course, if he didn't have a lighter on him, Bucky would be very embarrassed, either standing around with his unlit cigarette or having to use his own lighter and be found out a liar.

It didn't come to that as the blond pulled out a plain purple lighter from his khaki jacket. “Here you go.”

Bucky lit his smoke and took a short drag, immediately relaxing as he exhaled. The effect was probably more psychological than anything at this point, but he didn't care about that as long as it actually worked.

“So... The guy you were with sounded like kind of a douche,” Bucky stated.

The blond laughed, startled, then nodded enthusiastically. His nose was slightly crooked, and Bucky noticed a faint scar on his neck on which the streetlights reflected. “A bit of a douche.” He repeated, looking up at the sky. “I guess you could say that. He just... He has his moments. He can be pretty decent sometimes, but others he'll just start this kind of crap and it's... annoying, I guess. I mean, I'm not really close to him, so whatever. We just keep on running into each other.”

“Still. I mean, I don't want to sound like I was spying on your conversation -”

“Though you kind of were?”

Bucky shrugged. Belatedly, he thought of offering a cigarette to the other man, but he refused. “You were speaking pretty loudly, to be honest. What I meant to say is... He didn't sound like he was trying not to hurt you, you know. He seemed to be enjoying pissing you off. So you don't have to make excuses for him.”

“Am I making excuses?” He thought about it for a second, and Bucky let him. He could hear the music from the bar, though only faintly, as well as a couple of people talking across the road. “Maybe I am. I guess it's just that what he was saying wasn't anything new. It's actually getting to be pretty old stuff. And like... If you keep on staying angry at those things, you won't ever be able to let go. And it'll just ruin your life. Loki's bigotry isn't worth ruining my life over.”

“I guess, yeah.”

Bucky wanted to ask more questions. To ask how come the blond had to deal with those kinds of comment enough for him to build a protective layer against them. He wanted to know where Loki's discourse was coming from, or even what the subject of it actually was. He knew about asexuality, and it wasn't too difficult to infer from that what “aromantic” meant. But he was curious about how this stranger identified, in a way that wasn't exactly polite.

He didn't ask.

Actually, the blond was the one who next asked a question. “What's your name, by the way? I saw you hanging out with one of the bartenders, so hopefully I can score a free drink if I make her think I'm your friend.”

Bucky let out a short laugh. “Yeah, no chance, not with Jess. She's treasurer for the youth group that's throwing this party, she won't be the one responsible for giving out free drinks and making them lose out on possible benefits.”

“Worth a try,” the stranger replied with a small smile, only lifting up one side of his mouth.

“Bucky. That's my name, if you still want to know. Or, well, my actual name's James, but most people call me Bucky.”

“And do you have a preference between the two?”

Bucky shrugged.

“Okay Bucky. I'm Clint.” He extended a hand to shake, and Bucky switched his cigarette to his left hand. He was wearing a glove over his prosthetic arm and hoped Clint's attention wouldn't get caught on it.

“Nice to meet you, Clint.”

“Likewise. Saw you dance with this guy a while before. You got some moves.”

Bucky shrugged again. “Yeah. I like dancing. Used to take lessons with one of my friends when we were in highschool.”

“Is he your boyfriend?”

“Uh?”

“The guy you were dancing with.”

“Sam?” Bucky shook his head, smiling. “Nah. Just a friend. Actually a friend of a friend. Only really started to get close to him in like... the last two months or so?”

“Oh, you looked pretty close,” Clint said teasingly, lying back against the wall.

“Yeah, no, I don't see him like that. And I'm pretty sure he's into Steve. Short, skinny, blond? Often looks like a lost puppy?”

“I think I see who you mean, yeah.”

Bucky dropped his cigarette and put it out, putting both hands in his jeans pocket.

“Speaking of Steve, I should probably head back. He's a bit of a mother hen sometimes, I'd better not let him start worrying or he'll freak out and give me a stern look.”

“Is that such a terrifying prospect?”

“Oh yeah. Trust me, you haven't seen Steve's stern looks.”

Bucky took a step backwards, signaling that he was about to get out of the conversation, but actually uncertain of whether he wanted to leave.

He wanted to ask for Clint's number, maybe. The blond was pretty attractive, in a kind of toned-down way, and he had a sort of laid-back charm about him. But mostly Bucky was just... intrigued. He wasn't sure whether it was in a nice way or not, and that was why he hesitated to act on it. It was his first night out after his last relapse, and Bucky was conscious of the fact that he might just have taken an unhealthy fancy to the guy because he had starved himself of any human contact for weeks.

“Do you come here regularly?” Clint asked as he was taking a second step back. “I mean, I don't think I've seen you around, but maybe I just hadn't noticed you.” He sounded doubtful of the idea in a way that brought warmth to Bucky's cheeks.

“Not... exactly. I don't... I don't go out much, actually. Today was kind of a favor to my friends.”

“I guess you'd really better get back in, then.”

“Yeah, but, uh...” Bucky took a breath. “Could I give you my number? I don't... if that's... I mean I'm not looking for...” He shook his head.

Clint shrugged. “'I'm not looking for' either. But if you want to grab a coffee or something someday, I probably wouldn't say no. Especially if you pay for it. I'm kind of broke, to be honest.”

Bucky laughed. “Sure. Want me to dictate?”

Clint pulled out his phone, unlocked it, and handed it to him. “Just type it in.”

Bucky did that, then handed the phone back. Clint fiddled with it for a few seconds, then Bucky felt his own phone vibrate in his jeans pocket. And pulled it out to a new text that just said “hi :)”. He saved the number and gave Clint a smile and a wave as he turned back to the bar.

“Ok. See you around then?”

“Sure. Maybe you can teach me some of those dance moves someday.”

“Sure.”  
He stepped inside, the saturated atmosphere immediately weighing on him. Natasha and Jess were slow-dancing. They smiled at him as he crossed the dancefloor, settling back next to Steve and fiddling with the wrist joint of his prosthesis.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A second chapter to celebrate the last day of #AggressivelyArospecWeek 2017. Didn't get to put out as many projects as I wanted to this year, but well. That happens. Posting from now on will happen at a rate of one chapter per month approximately. Please be patient with me! And don't hesitate to tell me what you think of the fic/what you want to see more of!

Bucky didn't call Clint.

It wasn't because he didn't want to. He did. He just didn't know why he wanted to. He couldn't understand why the guy had caught his attention, and didn't want to act without a reason.

He tried to just ignore the night altogether, but his brain had a habit of not listening once it had latched onto something.

He did some research in the meantime, trying to get a better grasp on what aromanticism entailed since it seemed to be an important subject to Clint. His first intuition was confirmed when he saw that aromanticism was defined as a total lack of romantic attraction, no matter a person's gender. He also quickly realized what Clint had meant when talking about an “aromantic spectrum”, and looked up a few more identities that belonged in the arospec category. He was especially interested after finding an article that defined amatonormativity, the way society as a whole saw romantic love as inherent to human nature and as a compulsory necessity. It was nice to be confronted to a worldview he hadn't known he had held and to be forced to put it into question.

He hadn't really thought about romance since his injury, too busy getting himself to function again, then getting himself to a state he could adequately call “better”. But he realized that a part of him had expected him to start focusing on it again at some point, like it was something he had to do.  
Of course doing research didn't help put Clint out of his mind. It also didn't help the morbid quality that his fixation on the man was taking on. Bucky felt conflicted, feeling like this need to understand the man was only strengthening the idea he had of him as other, as a curiosity more than a human being.  
And so Bucky didn't call.

But one day he got a text.

He still hadn't been cleared for work after his injury, and so his days were filled with a lot of nothing interspaced with bouts of therapy, both physical and psychological. This meant that he was very quick to jump onto the distraction that his phone offered and see who was contacting him.

The fact that Clint's named was brightly displayed on his home screen came as a surprise though.

For a second, he considered not reading the message. He felt like he was in highschool again, weighing the consequences of each of his actions as if they would have an immeasurable impact on the rest of his life.

His muscles tensed up.

Then he finally opened the text.

Hi :) would you like to get a coffee or smthg some time this week?? my friends say I need to get out of the house

Bucky considered his options. This was an opening. An excuse to act and not have to blame it on himself. He wondered whether he should just admit that he didn't really have anything to do all week, thought about whether it would seem desperate or not. Realized that he was once more acting like this was his last year of high school all over again.

I'm free today if that's okay 4 u?

It was three o'clock on a Thursday. Hopefully Clint wouldn't ask any invasive question about his schedule.

In an hour downtown at the Falcon?

Bucky thought about it. He could vaguely picture where the coffee shop was situated, but was surprised that Clint would suggest it.

Weren't you supposed to be broke??

He only had to wait a few seconds for the answer.

Barista on duty today owes me a favor :))))

Bucky smiled, without thinking about it. He started twirling a strand of hair around his finger.

Meet you there.

Bucky pocketed his phone. He put away the book he had abandoned on the coffee table.  
Looking around the apartment, he took in how spotless it was.  
It never used to be like that, before. Steve was kind of a slob, despite what everyone seemed to think when they first met him, and when Bucky had been working in town as well as going through school, he hadn't had time, energy nor desire to clean things. But there wasn't anything else for him to do now, not until he got cleared by his two therapists as fit-to-work. So he did the housework, and tried not to feel like a sitcom housewife and greet Steve with a kiss as he came home.

And at least Steve knew him well enough and had the decency not to comment on the state of their apartment. Even when Bucky got stressed and started cleaning things that had been spotless all along, he didn't say anything.

He was too good a friend, sometimes, and it broke Bucky's heart.  
Bucky hadn't always been so easy to be good to.

Maybe that was one of the reasons he wanted to see Clint again so badly. He was new. He was a blank slate. Bucky hadn't known Sam before his injury, but Sam was Steve's friend, it wasn't the same. Clint could be a new beginning.

He flinched at the thought. He didn't want to use the man in any way. He wanted to see him as a person. Nothing more, nothing less. He wanted to control his thoughts and feelings again, to be able to trust that his brain knew what he was doing.

Bucky realized he was wearing sweatpants and the t-shirt he had slept in, and quickly took a shower before he changed.

It was one of the days during which Steve worked on his freelance illustrator business, so he stopped by his office and quietly knocked on the doorframe. Steve took off his headphones and looked up, blinking like a confused bird.

“I'm going out. For coffee. Should be back by early evening.”

“Uh? Okay. Have fun?”

Bucky smiled. Steve was always too engrossed in his work when he was drawing. It took him minutes to snap out of it and get back to the real world.

“Yeah. Just wanted to warn you in case you started looking for me. Get back to work now.”

Steve mock-saluted him, and Bucky rolled his eyes as he walked away and closed the door behind him. The coffee place was twenty minutes away from the apartment he shared with Steve, but the bus was mostly empty and he found a seat easily. He thought he could feel gazes on him as he kept silent in his spot, but couldn't pinpoint where they were coming from. He kept his eyes on the doors.

The shakes in his leg started after ten minutes.

Stepping out of the bus felt like seeing the sky for the first time, and Bucky took a minute to collect himself before walking to the coffee shop only two streets away.

Clint was already there, his hair a mess, a band-aid on one of his cheeks and cradling a steaming cup in his hands. He was wearing a grey t-shirt with some kind of design on it that Bucky couldn't make out.

He walked in and made his way to Clint's table, trying not to fidget. His prosthetic felt awkward, and Bucky couldn't help but rub at the plastic wrist even though he knew it was fine.

Clint looked up and grinned at him. Bucky noticed dark circles under his eyes, but didn't feel comfortable asking about them.

“Hey, Bucky. Take a seat. Or do you want to order first? Sorry I didn't wait for you, I was kind of craving a fix...”

Bucky raised an eyebrow at his choice of words, but once again didn't comment. “I'll go order, give me a minute.” He took off his leather jacket and draped it over the back of the chair before turning to the counter.

He could feel his body vibrate from anxiety and decided to ignore all types of coffee available and settle on a chai latte. He didn't have to wait more than a minute for his drink to be ready and gratefully took it back to the table.

Clint was staring out of the window, looking kind of distracted.

“Clint?” The other man didn't seem to react. “Hey?” Bucky said, a bit louder.

Clint jumped, and immediately turned to face him again. “Sorry.” He started scratching at his neck, right where Bucky had noticed that he had a scar. “I was kind of zoning out.”

“I would say. Are you okay?”

Clint seemed taken aback for a second, then shrugged. “Okay enough, I guess? I'm just tired, and I haven't seen a lot of people these past few days except for work so... yeah.”

“If you'd rather have some time for yourself, though...” Bucky started saying. Clint had been the one to invite him in the first place, but he had also said something about his friends pushing him to do it? Anyway, Bucky didn't want to be a bother or make him feel uncomfortable or like he owed him anything.

“Dude, chill,” Clint said, projecting calm. “You look like you're about to bolt. I'm fine. I just need a nice distraction, which is why I called you. Are you feeling okay?”

Bucky shrugged. He didn't want to talk about the paranoia and anxiety that seemed to cling to his skin since he had stepped on the bus. “Okay enough.” He smiled, surprised at how naturally the gesture came to him.

Clint laughed. “Look at us! What a pair. Speaking of which... How the fuck are your eyes so blue? I hadn't noticed it last time because it was so dark, but damn!” He whistled, grinning as he took another sip of his coffee.  
Bucky stared. There was no way the other man had actually just said that. Without a pause or the barest hint of self-consciousness. People didn't just say that. It didn't happen. Clint smiled.

“I'm pretty sure it's just genetics.” Bucky replied, carefully keeping a neutral expression. “That or my mother bathed me in the blood of innocents when I was a baby.”

Clint choked on his drink, and Bucky took a sip of his latte to hide both his laughter and his lingering embarrassment at the compliment. He wasn't really sure whether Clint was teasing or genuinely flirting, and had no idea how to ask without sounding either too eager or like an asshole. Especially since he had no idea what his own position was towards Clint. He barely knew the guy, sure, but he clearly remembered flirting with girls he barely knew before. It hadn't felt like this, though. Could Bucky be flirting without realizing? Was that even possible?

He chased the thoughts away. It didn't matter right now. He could think about it later, and still enjoy the present company and positive attention.

“I was not expecting that. But fair enough. So your mother is a witch?”

Bucky shook his head, smiling. “Not that I know of. We did have a black cat when I was a child though. But if I'm honest, my sister is probably the witch in our family. She definitely had her goth phase at least.”

Of course Esther would try to kill him if she heard him say this. That, or remark that he still wasn't out of his punk phase himself, which wasn't actually true, because punk wasn't a phase.  
Clint didn't have to know all that.

“Oh god. So, I have this friend, Kate? She's a few years younger than me, and I found some of her teenage pictures, and she was a total scene kid. Most hilarious thing I've ever seen. I still haven't found her old Myspace account, but I know it exists.”

“I'm pretty sure I still have a Myspace account floating around somewhere...”

Clint seemed genuinely taken aback by that. “Oh my god. How old are you?”

“Twenty-six. You?”

“Twenty-nine. Thirty in like...” He scrunched up his face a little. “A month? But seriously. You had a Myspace?”

“Well, yeah. I was super into music. Still am, though I can't really play anymore – long story.” Bucky picked up his cup with his prosthetic hand, a nervous gesture that was probably drawing more unwanted attention to the thing but that he couldn't help. “So I got a Myspace.”

“God I feel old.” He drank another sip of coffee. “What kind of music?”

“Dude. You do not ask that question to someone who just told you they're really into music. It's a fucking rabbit hole. I will literally go on for hours if you let me.”

Clint shrugged. “Told you I needed a distraction.”

Bucky thought of the buzzing in his head that had been there since his bus journey. At least it had calmed down a little. Maybe he needed a distraction too.

He usually wasn't keen on talking about his passion with people who weren't also on board, because they tended not to understand. They would see it as misplaced dedication, energy he could put into something else, or downright disapprove of his choice of genres. Or simply become scared by the level of enthusiasm he could show.

“Okay. So I'm mostly into punk. A lot of classic 70's stuff. Not a big fan of The Clash. I know they're supposed to be this staple of the genre or whatever, but they're just not really my thing. I like a bit of Sex Pistols, though. Buzzcocks, X-Ray Spex, The Slits,... Classic stuff. Big fan of folk punk as well. Best friend got me into that. There's a lot of good new stuff in the genre. Like, you can still feel the DIY soul in a lot of it, but with additional mad skills on the acoustic guitar. I mean, it's just so annoying when people say that punk became too commercial, as if there's just one kind of punk music. Of course the things that are played on the radio are commercial, that's why they're on the radio. You can only get away with playing punk on mainstream shows if the song has become a classic already. So a lot of people think there's nothing new happening in the genre. But a lot of kids are still doing their thing and putting their stuff out there without making profit. So yeah. I also listen to some metal, some hardcore, a bit of old rock. And, well, jazz, I guess. My mom was a jazz fan. That's what I grew up on before I started my 'rebellious teenage phase' as she likes to call it. I'm not a connoisseur, but I still listen to what we used to play at home.” He looked up into Clint's eyes after finishing his tirade. The blond was staring back, almost empty mug of coffee in hand and an eyebrow rose. Bucky started scratching his neck. “You're lucky, dude. I gave you the very short version here.”

Clint let out a short puff of laughter and shook his head. “I promise I'm not laughing at you. It's just... Now that you mention it, I can totally see the teenage punk rocker in you. That, and how intense you got... It's just adorable.”

Bucky bent his head down slightly, letting his long hair hide the blush on his cheeks.

“Never would have pinned you as a mama's boy, though.”

Bucky shrugged. “I was always close to my mom and sister. My mom got a divorce from my dad when I was still really young and my sister a toddler. Apparently he was a drunk, or something. I never got the whole story from my mom. But we decided we only had each other, so we stuck together. And then my best friend's mom died, and we took him in too, kind of.”

Clint put his elbow on the table and rested his chin on his hand. “That sounds... nice, I guess.”

Bucky could feel some tension there, and was almost afraid to ask, but did anyway. If he kept on only dipping his toes, he would never actually learn to know the guy. “Not the best relationship with your own family?”

Clint laughed, in an open but bitter way. “Yeah, no. Parents died in a car crash when I was a kid. Went through foster care for a while. Then my brother turned 18 and somehow managed to get custody of me. I mean, foster care was awful. But my brother is an asshole. So, yeah.” He opened his arms in some kind of vaguely grand gesture. “This is the life-story of poor old me.”

“Are you really gonna call yourself old all the time just because I'm three years younger than you?”

Clint laughed again. “I'm old in the soul.”

“Right...” Bucky replied with a disbelieving raise of eyebrow. He took another sip of his chai latte. The atmosphere wasn't exactly awkward, but Bucky didn't know how to keep the conversation going, and he could feel Clint become distracted again. He wanted to talk about what had happened at the party they'd met. He wanted to mention his research on aromanticism, talk about it with Clint. But he had no idea how to bring up any of that without standing like a creep who also wanted a cookie for trying to be open-minded.

Bucky was suddenly reminded of why he wasn't good at one-on-ones. He just couldn't think of anything to say. If there had been a conversation going on around him, he would have been perfectly happy to lie back and listen in silence. But here, now, the silence felt like his personal responsibility. He was overthinking again.

Why did people talk about, when they didn't know each other? All the new acquaintances he had made in the last year had been friends of Steve, so he hadn't had to actually carry the conversation.

“So... um. You come here regularly?” He asked, internally flinching at how ridiculous it sounded.

Clint immediately focused back on him. He shrugged. “I guess. Like I told you, I know one of the baristas.” Clint turned slightly to look towards the counter, and pointed out one of the people behind it. The person has short dark hair and was currently frowning at the register. “That's Billy. Nice kid.”

Now that he thought about it, the young man's face felt kind of familiar. He seemed to be in his early twenties, definitely younger than Bucky.

“How do you know each other?”

“He's one of Kate's friends.” Clint frowned. “That sounded slightly pathetic. Now that I think about it, a lot of my friends are people I met through her. Or people from work. Kiiiind of sad.” He took a gulp of his drink, not really seeming bothered by his situation.

Bucky didn't know what to say to that, so he tried being honest. “I don't meet a lot of new people either these days, apart from my roommate's friends. So I guess we're kind of alike.”

“Oh. You live with someone?”

Bucky nodded. “Yeah. My best friend, I guess.” Steve was a hard person to define, at least in regards to himself. Their relationship had been through so many different changes, putting a word to it felt reductive somehow. Like it could never do justice to the concept it tried to express. “He's pretty much family. We first officially moved in together when he started college.”

“Officially moved in?”

Bucky tried not to let any of his thoughts show on his face. With a history as complicated as he and Steve's, there were a lot of things he couldn't disclose to the first stranger. As much because they weren't his to share as because he himself was uncomfortable with sharing them.

“He was kind of living with my family already before that. It's a long story. We met when we were like... eight. So we're kinda close.”

Clint whistled. Which was apparently also a thing that actual people – or at least Clint – did. “That's a long time, I'm impressed. I never really had such close childhood friends. And, like I said, my brother is a dick. I'm kind of jealous I guess.”

Bucky shrugged. “I mean, I love him. I do. He's great and... I guess it's just nice that there's someone who's shared so much of my life, so much of who I've been through the years. And who still sticks around. But, like... It's a relationship. Like any relationship. We've had our ups and downs. Nobody will ever understand everything about you, you know?”

“Mmh.”

“But that's also a good thing. Discovering new things about each other. And still being there.”

Clint smiled softly. “Those sound like wise words. It does seem like you two get along really well.”

Bucky ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah.” He felt the conversation come to a lull again, but this time he was himself more focused inwards than anything. He finished the last cold sips of his chai latte as Clint played with his own empty mug.

“Speaking of Steve-”

“Your roommate?” Clint interrupted, and Bucky realized he hadn't actually told him his name.

“Yeah. I think I'm gonna head back before he starts to worry. I told him I was leaving, but when he gets focused on his work he forgets literally everything, so if I stay away for more than two hours there's a chance he'll call the police and tell them I've been kidnapped.”

Clint laughed openly. “You know, I would never have thought you would be the kind of guy to use exaggerations like that. You seem a lot colder, when we don't know you.”

Bucky mustered up his best dead-eyed stare. He then raised an eyebrow. “You only think I'm exaggerating.” He immediately broke character, letting out a genuine smile. The whole routine earned him one more laugh from Clint. “We get a little protective about each other sometimes-” Bucky could feel the time when Steve hadn't been by his side like a physical void. He had felt so vulnerable then, not even because of the real danger, but because of the loneliness. “But that's just how things go with us.”  
“It sounds nice.”

Bucky shrugged. “I guess. I'll... I'll see you around? We could do this again, if work ever gets too much for you?”

Clint laughed. “Don't say that, or you'll be seeing me every day.”

“I've got nothing better to do, to be honest.”

“How come?” Clint asked.

It was much too long a story when he had just told the other man he was going to leave, so Bucky gave the short version. “I don't work. I don't study either. Basically I'm on indefinite medical leave, so my schedule is very flexible and mostly revolves around emptiness. So, yeah. Just text me if you ever need company?”

He stood up and grabbed his leather jacket. He stopped himself from flinching. He had made the whole thing sound so... civilian. Medical leave, instead of being discharged due to injury. Bucky felt like he had dust in his mouth.

“Will do. It was nice seeing you again, Bucky.”

“Yeah. Same for me. I'll talk to you soon.”

He gave a small and awkward wave which Clint returned with a smile, then turned away and walked out of the coffeeshop.

The air was much colder than when he had arrived, as dark clouds were now hiding the sun. Bucky could feel rain in the air and put his arms around himself as he waited for his bus.


	3. Chapter 3

Bucky had an appointment with his physical therapist the next day, and came back from it utterly exhausted, falling into bed without even bothering to check whether Steve was home or not. He stared at his prosthetic fingers for a while, watching them move back and forth as he willed them to, feeling his muscles strain under the effort. The process seemed so natural, yet so alien at the same time. It made Bucky uncomfortable. He took off the heavy prosthesis before sliding into bed for a nap, cringing as he unlocked the mechanism that let it attach to his body. Even now, he had trouble adjusting his equilibrium everytime he took the arm off. His body always instinctively compensated the heavy weight of the battery and motor inside it. He put the prosthesis down on the side of his desk he kept clear for this purpose. His whole shoulder was aching after his session of exercises and his massage, and he ran his hand over the scars on his lump as he breathed through the first wave of pain.

He pulled the blanket up to his chin and closed his eyes, focusing on his heartbeat to try and not think of anything else.

He eventually fell asleep, waking up a few hours later to an ignorable throb.

He eyed the alarm clock next to his bed. It was four o'clock already and he hadn't eaten anything since breakfast.

He stood up with a sigh, dejectedly looking down at his sleep-crumpled clothes and sighing. He eyed his prosthetis for a second before deciding it was too much to bother with. He wandered to the kitchen, sleep in his eyes. He could feel his body leaning sideways still. He looked into the fridge to see whether they were any leftovers lying around, even though he was the one who did most of the cooking in the house and knew perfectly well there was nothing ready-made there. Bucky was tired.

In the end, he made himself a plain sandwich with ham and cheese, wincing at the dryness of the taste as he ate. He needed to get himself together, he thought. Instead, he went back to his room, not even bothering to open the curtains or turn on the lights. He picked up his phone from his bedside table, as well as a pair of earbuds, pushed up his pillow and settled himself against it. He put the earbuds in and brought his knees close to his chest, pressing play on the music menu of his phone. Music started blaring mid-song, too loud and too harsh, and Bucky felt his body tense up before relaxing again. He let everything wash over him, falling deep in himself and the music, ignoring everything else. A song became another then another, until he slowly regained some sense of time and place. The ache in his stump was mostly gone now, but he still didn't want to wear his prosthetis if he didn't have to.

He put his earbuds aside and opened the curtains and windows, letting in both sun and fresh air. He was only wearing a t-shirt, but the apartment was well-heated. It was a habit he had taken as soon as he had moved back in with Steve. Now that they could afford a nice apartment and proper heating, this little luxury was comforting.

Bucky walked to Steve's office space, a tiny room that barely fit a desk and some bookshelves. He knocked, then opened the door when there was no answer. Silence didn't always mean that Steve wasn't there. He would often be either too focused to reply or listening to music and not hearing anything of what was going on around him. The young man was actually gone this time, though. He was employed part-time as a graphic designer by a non-profit organisation, and did freelance illustration on the side, which made for flexible and erratic schedules that Bucky had long since given up on trying to keep track of.

He considered going out. Doing some groceries, maybe, even though they still had enough for at least two meals in the fridge. Or just taking a walk. But all of that would involve putting the prosthetis back on, and the effort of actually getting out of the apartment.

He sat down in front of the TV instead.

His mind was blank as he settled on a cartoon channel and watched characters he didn't know about go through actions he didn't understand the point of. He hadn't had a crash so bad after physical therapy in quite a long time. It used to happen after every other appointment, the pain and the exhaustion making him shut down emotionally for a day or two. He knew he had to go through it all though, knew how much good the physical therapy was doing him. It was just hard to focus on the physical benefits when his body felt like a foreign object even as he was inhabiting it.

He remembered a time when that hadn't been the case at all. He remembered wearing his skin confidently, glowing with it as Steve liked to jealously remind him. He remembered training in the military, remembered the pleasure he felt in feeling his muscles work, the addiction to the smell of his own sweat on his skin. He remembered his own smile on photographs, never self-conscious, always promising something.

He remembered the cold of night, remembered the explosion of sound, so loud it immediately dissolved into silence. He remembered a fall, a searing pain through his arm, like burning your tongue, a numbness spreading through his brain until he didn't feel anything.

And then the silence. The silence. Waiting for something, trying not to hope, just losing himself to the silence and the burning and the cold.

He turned his head to greet Steve as he heard him come inside.

“Hey.” Bucky willed his voice to carry, not to tremble.

“Oh, hi,” Steve walked into the room from the kitchen, leaning agains the wall. “I hadn't noticed you there. What are you watching?”

Bucky turned back to the screen, but he honestly had no clue. “Don't know.” He shrugged, and felt Steve's gaze stop on his stump for a second.

“Bad therapy day?”

Bucky rolled his eyes, then let his head fall back against the back of the couch, hair falling across his cheeks as he did.

Steve toed off his shoes and pushed him slightly, forcing him to free some space on the couch. He sat down next to Bucky, well into his personal space, and even rested his head against his shoulder.

Steve was on his left side, so he couldn't put an arm around him, but he didn't really need to as the smaller man cuddled against him until there was barely any space between their bodies. It was funny how touch averse they both could be when it came to other people, and how much bodily contact went on between them two. Of course, they had a history that had built up this closeness, but even then. The fact that it had survived despite what they both had gone through felt like a miracle at times.

“Hey, Steve.” Bucky stopped, not adding anything. There was a thought in his mind, but he wasn't sure where it was coming from, and he wasn't sure whether he should voice it or not. It would certainly be awkward.

Steve moved slightly against him, still looking for the most comfortable position. His small size was an advantage, since by curling in on himself and resting his head on Bucky's chest, he could fit under the stump of his arm without disturbing it. “Mmh?”

“Do you like Sam?”

Steve froze. Then he slowly uncoiled himself and sat down more properly, restoring a few centimeters of space between him and Bucky. “Why do you ask?”

His voice was calculated and careful, which made Bucky frown. “Uh? Because I'm curious? I think you would make a good couple.”

Steve looked away at that and started biting his bottom lip. Bucky was feeling more confused than he felt he ought to be at this early stage of the conversation.

“Uh? Is there a problem? If you don't want to talk about it it's...”

“No, no, no!” Steve started, shaking his head.

Bucky realised he had been moving his body away from his friend's and stopped. He knew that Steve got overly worried whenever he appeared even slightly uncomfortable, which was honestly annoying whenever he was the one worrying about Steve.

“Look, I-” Bucky stopped, ran a hand through his hair, then tried again. “I didn't mean anything by it. It was just a stupid comment. Ignore it.”

Silence fell as Steve failed to immediately reply, and Bucky pretended to focus on the television screen again.

“I might like him a little.”

Bucky could hear the embarrassment in Steve's voice. He didn't turn away from the screen, thinking that his friend would be more at ease without having to make eye contact.

“And I'm pretty sure he likes me well enough?”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, turning back just slightly to see Steve's face. “Are you asking me?”

Steve shrugged. “Nah. I guess not. I'm pretty sure he would say yes if I asked him on a date I just don't... I'm just not sure if I should.”

Bucky kept on pretending he was following anything of what was going on on the TV. “Why shouldn't you? I mean, Sam is sweet. He's a little shit, but he's sweet.”

Steve started laughing. “He said almost the exact same thing about you not three days ago. I honestly think the two of you would be great friends if you interacted more when I'm not there to force you to.”

“I'll think about it. Not sure the guy is worth the effort, but if it makes you happy...” Bucky bumped his shoulder into Steve's. “You're changing the subject, though. Why shouldn't you date Sam?”

Steve sighed, then kept silent again. Bucky turned back fully towards him then, frowning once more. “Seriously, Steve. Is something wrong? This shouldn't be worrying you so much.”

Steve let out a bitter laugh, something akin to a bark that felt unnatural in his mouth.

“Easy for you to say.”

“What do you mean?”

Steve looked away. “Sorry. I didn't mean that. It's just... You're... you. You're used to flirting and dating and stuff-”

“I haven't actually dated anyone since you, you know.”

Steve leaned back against him one more, quieting down. “Yeah. I know.”

Bucky slowly brushed his right hand along Steve's arm. “Is this about me?”

Steve didn't reply, only pressing closer into Bucky's skin.

“Hey, Steve. I'm gonna need an answer on this one. Is this about me?”

“I don't know-” Steve's voice was half-muffled. “Maybe a little.”

Bucky sighed. “You idiot. I'm fine. I.. I'll be okay. You don't have to worry about me.”

“We never actually broke up.”

“Steve-”

“No, hear me out.” Steve put a hand out, as if to stop Bucky from even moving. “We never actually broke up. And I'm okay with that, because there wasn't time, there wasn't... we didn't know. But that's okay. But you haven't actually dated anyone since you were dating me.”

Bucky was regretting starting this conversation. He hadn't thought it was going to end up going in this direction at all.

“Are you asking me if I got enough closure?”

Steve didn't reply, but he stared intently at Bucky, blue eyes unwavering. It was reply enough.

“I... Of course I did. I mean... I left. I mean, sure, we kept in touch, but none of us actually believed the long-distance thing was working, right? And then you... you. And then I got hurt. There wasn't clear closure, but we're not...”

“Are we not?” Steve asked, still lying on Bucky, looking up through his eyelashes in a way that brought back so many memories Bucky had to wonder if he wasn't actually in need of closure.

He shaked his head, though.

“We're not. And I've got my closure. You don't need to worry about me.”

“Why aren't you dating anyone, then?”

Bucky let out a puff of laughter. “Dude. I barely leave the flat on my own.”

“Do you want to date anyone?”

“When did this become about me?”

“Buck, please.”

“I don't... know. I don't know. No? I'm not... I don't feel like I need to be dating anyone right now. I'm not... interested.”

“You're sure?”

Bucky wanted to laugh. Hell no, he wasn't sure. It was true he hadn't really felt the need to date anyone in the 18 months since his injury, but was that just because he hadn't been very social in any form anyway? Then there was Clint, with whom he might be flirting but also was not flirting. He had no idea what he felt for Clint. It had been different, before. When he liked someone, he would feel it immediately. There was an easy tension that came from being attracted to someone. If there was tension between him and Clint, though, it wasn't the same kind.

Buck nodded in Steve's direction. “I'm sure.”

Steve nodded too, then, more solemnly. There was something half-sad to his expression, and Bucky could guess where it was coming from. Maybe some part of Steve had wanted for Bucky to still be attracted to him. Maybe some part of him had needed that, as validation. Bucky wished Steve would have sat down on his other side, or that he was wearing his prosthetic, so that he could hug his friend close to him.

“I'm fine, Steve. I don't want to be dating anyone right now, and I guess that includes you. But you're my best friend. You're still my best friend. You'll always be my best friend.”

“I know. I don't need you to comfort me. I'm not a teenage girl anymore.” He let out the smallest smile.

Bucky laughed at that. “No, you're definitely not.”

Steve still didn't seem to want to move from his position on Bucky's chest.

Bucky wondered how the conversation could have deviated so much, but he was thankful, in a way. He seemed to have broken out of his daze of blankness and self-pity.

“So... you and Sam?”

Steve groaned, raised himself up again and pushed Bucky away.

“Shut up. You're an idiot.”

Bucky shrugged. “I'm serious, Stevie. There's something there. You know it. I know it. I'm pretty sure Sam knows it, though I'm also pretty sure he's just too polite to point it out.”

“You are not getting involved in my love life, Buck.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Steve. You've got to admit it to yourself. There is no way I will not get involve in your love life. You're doomed.”

Steve got up off the couch at that, putting both hands over his ears. “I am not listening to you anymore. You are an asshole and I will ignore you all evening and be the better for it.”

“I LOVE YOU TOO STEVIE!” Bucky shouted as his friend walked out of the room and into his bedroom.

So Bucky was left with the television once more. It wasn't the same cartoon playing anymore, though he was as unfamiliar with that story as with the previous one.

He turned the TV off with a sigh. It wasn't a sad sigh. It was more a marking of the transition between a moment of easy comfort and the rest of one's life. Bucky got up and stretched his right arm above his head.

His stump was still hurting slightly and he didn't want to have to put the prosthetis back on for just a few hours.

“Steve! Stop whining and come help me make dinner.”

Steve popped his head through the door. “You always tell me I can't cook to save my life.”

“Well, what can I say? I'm an optimist and believe there's still hope that you'll learn.”

Steve shrugged. “As long as you don't complain if I mess things up...”

 

Two days later, Sam invited Bucky to the cinema. He did so by text, and Bucky's first reaction was to show his phone to Steve.

“What have you been telling your crush about me?” Bucky asked accusingly.

Steve, of course, the jerk that he was, batted his eyelashes innocently. “Me? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”

“You're full of crap, Rogers.”

Steve didn't looke even the slighest bit ashamed. “I told you you would get along more if you actually hung out without me. And I didn't force Sam to invite you. He actually liked the idea.”

“You are a terrible person. I don't know why I'm friends with you.”

Bucky started typing on his phone.

“Are you gonna go?”

Steve's voice was concerned. Bucky tried to play it cool, play it natural, and rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I'm gonna go. But if your boyfriend picks a terrible movie, I'm blaming you as well as him. And you will regret this.”

Steve didn't even deign to reply, simply grinning like a puppy. Bucky made a face and walked away, making some coffee for two.

As he stared at the coffee machine, his thoughts drifted back to Clint. He hadn't contacted the young man after that one time in the coffee shop. Not because he hadn't wanted to. He just hadn't done it.

And wasn't that a perfect illustration of all of his relationships right now? It had been a year since he had come back from the hospital, and though he had never actively pushed anyone away, he also hadn't made any effort to reconnect with anybody. Which left him with two close friends, Steve and Natasha, then Jess and Sam, and maybe Clint. If he could get his shit together enough to actually text the guy.

Bucky joined Steve on their couch and put two mugs of coffee on the coffee table, one black with two cubes of sugar and one topped with a thick layer of milk.

“Why aren't you coming to the movie with us, though?” he asked Steve.

The blond looked up from the book he was reading, a pair of thin glasses balanced on his nose. “Uh?”

“With Sam and I. The movie. I don't mind going alone with Sam, but why aren't you coming? Are you gonna stay here by yourself while I go out with your future boyfriend? Because that would be weird.”

“Don't call him my future boyfriend.”

Bucky shrugged, taking a sip of his coffee with milk and handing Steve his mug. “So. Why aren't you coming?”

“I'm actually busy tonight. A friend of mine invited me to a gallery opening. It's way too fancy for me to be invited, but she was, and she could bring a plus one.”

“Do I know her?”

“I think you met her once, before you left. She's called Peggy?”

Bucky had to think about it. That would have been three or four years ago. “The name rings a bell, but I couldn't tell you what she looked like anymore.”

“Yeah, well. We lost touched for a while when I started my transition, but we started talking again a few months back, and she knew I was interested in that new gallery I guess. So I said why not.”

“Yeah, no,” Bucky replied, nodding and settling himself more comfortably on the couch. “It's good. That's nice.”

He would have asked if it had been awkward for them to reconnect post-transition, but knew he wasn't entitled to that kind of morbid curiosity.

“I hope you guys will have fun.”

“She told me she finds those events absolutely terrible, but I guess at least we'll have each other's company?”

Steve closed his book and put it on the table in order to pick up his coffee. He hummed pleasantly as the warmth spread through his fingers.

“Did Sam tell you what movie you're gonna see?”

“I have absolutely no idea. He told me he would pick and that I had no choice. I'm honestly kind of scared.”

He kept his coffee cup in his left hand and pulled his phone out of his pocket with the other one, starting to scroll through his facebook feed. Most of it was filled with news article, since he liked the official page of pretty much every media outlet that deserved an ounce of respect. He felt like he couldn't afford not knowing if something big was happening in the world.

They sipped at their coffee in silence as Steve went back to reading and Bucky kept fiddling with his phone. He tagged Natasha in a cat video and read a few articles on international tensions. He tried to avoid anything that dealt directly with military actions.

He remembered Steve telling him how stupid he was to sign up for the army. He remembered Steve admitting, after getting so mad at each other they had been thrown out in the rain by the friends they had been staying with, that he wished he could join in with Bucky. Steve had always been the patriotic one, at that time he had even believed in the army. Bucky was only interested in the money at first. But Steve couldn't possibly have joined up, and Bucky actually thrived as a soldier. Until his injury.

He locked his phone again. Whenever he let his thoughts wonder like that, he fell back to the same memories. He knew that he shouldn't blame his brain for still trying to process things, but he could admit to himself that he would prefer being able to ignore it all for the rest of his life.

“I'm gonna go grab a book.”

 

He actually had a nice time with Sam. They went for burgers before the movie, which was some kind of ridiculous space opera that made absolutely no sense but was visually stunning and somehow extremely enjoyable to watch. He came out of the cinema utterly confused but with a smile on his face, and didn't even think of refusing when Sam asked if he wanted to get a drink before they went back their own way.

Bucky texted Steve to let him now he would come back later than expected. He didn't expect his friend to text back immediately, and so put his phone back into his pocket, letting Sam lead the way to a bar he knew which should be somewhat less crowded than usual bars on a Saturday evening.

Steve had been right, of course, and he and Sam did get along really well. They both had a sarcastic sense of humor, and Sam had a particular way of caring for people without infantilising them which Bucky particularly appreciated. He let himself be carried away in the conversation, starting from their respective opinion on the movie – a mess, but in a nice way – to their favorite sci-fi movies, to their favorite movie quote and so on. The both of them had finished their drinks and were about to head in different directions to walk back home when Bucky realised he hadn't felt his phone vibrate for the whole evening. He checked the screen, which was blank.

He furrowed his brows, feeling anxiety rising in his stomach.

“Are you okay?” Sam asked, hands in his pants pockets to shield them from the cold.

Bucky shaked his head slightly. “Yeah, I... It's just...” He looked up, and saw that Sam was looking genuinely concerned. “It's nothing, really. Just... Steve hasn't texted me back.”

“He might be asleep.”

Bucky shaked his head in earnest this time. “No. He was at this gallery opening. It ended half an hour ago, so he should be on his way. But... He's really careful about me checking in. He should have texted back.”

“His phone might be dead. Or he might just not have heard it, if there's a lot of noise where he is. And the party might have run just a slightly bit late and that's why he's not back yet. I'm sure he's fine.”

“Yeah. Yeah, probably. It's probably nothing.” He laughed bitterly. “What a pair we make, right? Perfect illustration of codependency.”

“With what you've both been through, it should be expected. It might not be healthy, but it's not surprising.”  
“That's not exactly a comfort, Sam.”

The man shrugged. “Do you want me to come home with you, just in case?”

“I'm not a kid,” Bucky immediately replied, taking on an offended tone. “I can-” Bucky stopped himself. Sam was looking at him with a face that was carefully blank. No pity on his face, no obvious concern. It was the kind of expression so neutral it could only be a façade.

Bucky looked down at his feet. Sam might not be concerned for him, but he would certainly be for Steve.

“Fine. You can come with.”

Sam smiled, looking relieved, and Bucky shaked his head and walked away without even looking at him. The bus stop wasn't far, and they got there a few minutes before the last bus was due. As they waited, Bucky kept checking his phone, finally giving in and sending Steve a text asking him to show he was alive.

He hadn't been joking when he had told Sam that the both of them might be a little codependant. It was something that had taken him months to realise, and his therapist had had to ease him into it. He felt uncomfortable with the knowledge now, couldn't help analysing every single aspect of their relationship or even their conversations. But being aware of the problem wasn't enough to make it go away, and he had no idea how he would deal if he truly had to stop being so close to Steve.

Bucky's therapist has been asking him to have a conversation with Steve about all of that, even offering to make an appointment with him if Bucky felt he couldn't approach the subject on his own. After the conversation they'd had about Bucky's dating situation, he thought it might be worth a try. But well. There was one more step to take between knowing it was a good idea and actually doing it.

“Still no reply?” Sam asked, keeping a neutral tone.

Bucky shaked his head. The night had gotten a bit chilly, and he popped up his collar against the wind, admitting it would probably have been a good idea to wear a scarf under his leather jacket. Although Sam was only wearing a plaid collared shirt instead of a jacket and seemed completely fine. The fucker.

Bucky was about to call him out on that when the bus arrived. They stepped inside, and Sam bought a ticket while Bucky used his pass.

The only other passengers where three girls either back or getting ready for a night out and an older man. The girls were chatting at the back, but it still felt mostly silent, and Sam and Bucky took two seats at the front.

Sam checked his phone too. Still no word from Steve.

“Do you know the girl he's with?” Sam asked.

Bucky turned back towards him after having been staring at his own reflection in the bus window. “No, not really. Steve told me I've met her once apparently, but I honestly don't remember anything about her. I think they met in college, or late high school. They lost touch, reconnected a while back. She has contacts in the art scene – god knows how – and since she knew he was interested, she invited him.”

Sam nodded, two fingers rythmically tapping against his leg.

“I don't think she's trouble,” Bucky continued, for both their sakes. “I mean, I can't be sure, I don't know her, but Steve didn't seem worried at all. And he didn't seem surprised that she would invite him.”

“He should be fine, then.”

Bucky nodded, repeating Sam's words under his breath. They kept silent after that. The easy-going banter was gone between them, getting replaced by more and more tension as minutes passed by without any more news.

The bus finally stopped a block away from Bucky and Steve's appartment, and they walked up to it without exchanging one more word. As Bucky opened the door, he was hoping he would hear sound from the living room, or see light under Steve's bedroom door, but there was nothing. He let Sam in, closed the door again, and checked every room to be sure. No sign of Steve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't hate me.  
> Also, tags for the story have been slightly updated, but feel free to tell me if I should add more of them!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I finally give you the resolution of that cliffhanger, as well as a bit of fluff to make the angst go down smoother. And people say I don't love my readers.

They had settled down on the couch with a glass of water and the DVD version of Mulan as a last resort to try and alleviate the panic. Steve still wasn't there half an hour later and Bucky felt like nothing could truly settle his anxiety, not even nostalgia in high doses. Sam looked calmer, but maybe that was just because he was better at pretending.

Both of them jumped when they heard the front door open, and turned to see Steve walk in.

The young man froze when he caught their gaze.

“Oh shit.” He quickly pulled out his phone. He cursed again. “I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm late. And I forgot to turn my phone back on. I didn't think. I'm sorry.”

Sam stood up from the couch and walked to him, putting a hand on the blond's shoulder. He winced slightly, and Bucky guessed that Steve smelled of alcohol.

“It's fine. You're home now. Though...” Steve was leaning into Sam's touch. “Dude, are you drunk?”

Steve opened his mouth, then closed it again. He played with his lower lip for a moment, looking down. “I'm... tipsy?”

Sam shaked his head. Bucky was still on the couch, and people were singing on the TV screen. Still, even from there he could feel the tension in the room rising.

“We were worried. But it doesn't matter now. We'll... I'll talk to you about it later. I hope you had a good night.” He came back to the living room to pick up his empty glass of water, dropped it in the sink and went to the front door. All the while, Steve dumbly stared at him, following his movements without any of his own.

“Thanks for the evening, Bucky. We should do it again sometime. Steve, I'll call you tomorrow. I'll head home now.”

Before anyone had had time to reply, he left and slammed the door.

Steve crossed Bucky's eyes.

“I'm sorry.”

Bucky wasn't sure what Steve was seeing in his gaze but apparently it was enough to make him feel genuinely bad, even through a thick layer of alcohol. He was looking down, arms close to his body, seeming tiny and soft.

“I didn't mean to, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.”

He was shaking his head more and more madly. Bucky turned off the television and walked up to him, putting both hands on his friend's arms. Steve sagged, letting Bucky hold him up, and even went as far as to bury his face in Bucky's shoulder.

“I'm sorry,” he said once more, voiced muffled.

Something was wrong, Bucky could feel it. He should be angry. Sam's reaction was the logical one, here. Steve had wronged them. He knew they would both probably wait for him. But he had ignored that and gotten drunk, and it was his own fault. Bucky should be angry with him. But he couldn't manage that. He couldn't manage to be glad that Steve was back either. He felt blank, like Sam's carefully crafted expression had been. He felt blank, and tired.

Steve tugged on his shirt a little, hands pulled into fists.

It annoyed Bucky. He couldn't exactly say why, but it annoyed him. He pushed his friend away.

“You need to get to bed. We'll talk about things tomorrow. Not when you're drunk.”

“I mean it, Bucky, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to.”

Didn't mean to what? Was he only apologizing for getting drunk and not answering his phone? Bucky didn't care about the answer. He just wanted his friend to shut up. He wanted silence. He wanted to go to sleep and not have to think about anything.

He steered Steve towards his bedroom, not replying, and watched for a few seconds as the blond started undressing himself. Then he went back to the kitchen and filled a water bottle from the tap.

“Drink this,” he ordered, holding the bottle up to Steve. “Then go to bed.”

Steve nodded and took the water bottle. Bucky walked out without looking back.

He went to his bedroom and sat down heavily on his bed.

He eventually fell asleep.

 

He awoke sharply, suddenly, breathing fast. He couldn't remember having a nightmare, though he guessed that was what had happened.

Bucky took a while to gather his wits before he even thought about getting up. He stayed in bed, lying on his back, and stared at the ceiling, the room already lit by sunshine.

He heard noises in the kitchen. So Steve was already awake. That was good. He couldn't have that bad of a hangover if he had woken up before Bucky.

He stood up. Didn't bother putting on more decent clothes than what he had slept in and immediately stepped into the next room.

“Hey,” Steve said sheepishly, holding a pan with two fried eggs on it. “I was just about to wake you up.” Two plates were already on the table, a slice of toasted bread and some bacon on each of them. He added an egg to each plate. “I made breakfast,” he pointed out needlessly, gesturing to the table with the pan still in his hands.

Bucky nodded, and sat down in front of one plate. Steve stared at him, worrying his bottom lip.

Bucky wasn't ready to make things simple for the other man. He had been scared. And it had been Steve's fault. The blond knew that. He would have to admit it first if he wanted Bucky's forgiveness.

Steve just stood there, not saying anything, until Bucky started eating his breakfast. Then he sat down across from him. He picked up his fork and fiddled with it for a while.

“I'm sorry about last night,” Steve said.

Bucky looked up, chewing on a mouthful of bread. Steve held his gaze for barely a second before looking away. He had dark circles under his eyes, clashing against his pale skin.

Bucky swallowed his food. “What happened?”

Steve started piling up his bacon and egg on top of his toast. “I... I went out with Peggy. After the gallery opening. We didn't stay there for long, actually. Just enough to see the art, listen to a speech. Drink some champagne. I hadn't eaten a lot. The alcohol raised to my head pretty quickly. She... She asked if I wanted to get out. I tolder her yes.” He cut a piece of his toast and ate it, while Bucky only watched without saying a word. “We went to a bar. I forgot to turn my phone back on. We had to put it on silent for the speeches. We drank some more. We danced.”

He fell silent, still cutting his toast into small  pieces. His egg yolk broke, covering his plate in orange liquid.

“Is that it?” Bucky asked. He could feel there was something else. He wouldn't have apologised so adamantly last night if it was only because he had gotten drunk. He wouldn't be looking so defensive now.

Steve finally shaked his head. He took another bite of his breakfast.

“We ended up kissing. In the bar. I mean, she kissed me. But I kissed her back. And then we kept on doing it.”

Steve was the one not looking up at Bucky now. He wasn't sure what to think of his friend's behavior. In itself, it wasn't anything particularly bad, but Steve obviously felt guilty about the kissing. Then there was his relationship to Sam, or more importantly the maybe relationship between the two men. The fact that Sam had been there when he had come home probably hadn't helped Steve's guilt.

“Okay,” Bucky said, waiting for Steve to look up before he continued. “You kissed her. That's fine.”

“Is it?”

Bucky pointed at his friend with his fork. “Is that a question? Because if it is, it's your problem to figure out. It's not a bad thing per se. But...”

“Sam.”

Bucky nodded. “Sam. I mean, there wasn't exactly anything between you and him, so it's not as if you cheated on him or whatever... Are you actually interested in dating that Peggy girl?”

Steve looked away, scratching at his neck. “I don't know.”

“Are you still interested in Sam?”

“Yeah... Yeah, I am.”

Bucky shrugged. “Then figure it out. But whatever you choose to do, apologize to Sam first. You were a mess last night, and we'd both been worried.”

“I'm sorry.”

Bucky shaked his head. “To Sam. I'll keep on being on being mad at you until you've set things right with him.”

They finished their breakfast in silence after that, and Bucky started doing the dishes when Steve left to call Sam. The repetitive motion was comforting, allowing him to sort through his thoughts. He felt frustrated by Steve's behaviour, but not exactly angry. He could still feel a trace of last night's complete state of blankness lingering over him, and the fact he was still exhausted despite it being 11AM already didn't help. He put a pot of coffee on.

That act alone immediately made him think of Clint, and the easy association made him laugh at himself. Still only wearing his boxers and a ratty t-shirt, he went back to his room to get his phone from his bedside table.

_My roommate is being an idiot and forcing me to help him fix his romantic life._

He typed the text, then stared at his screen for a moment. It felt like an oversimplification of the problem. Because the issue of Steve's feeling was part of it, sure, but the breach of trust was as important, if not more. But how was he supposed to explain that in a text?  
Then there was the fact that he hadn't talked to Clint in a while. Was this maybe too direct? At the same time, he couldn't help but think this would be exactly the kind of behaviour that Clint would prefer. Not be too bothered by conventions, just going with the flow. After wondering for a whole minute whether to add a “ _Hey. How are you?_ ” at the start of the message, Bucky hit send without changing anything. He wasn't gonna overthink this. He wasn't gonna ruin this with overthinking. Not happening.

He could hear Steve's voice from his bedroom. He didn't seem to be shouting nor crying, which was good, Bucky guessed. It couldn't be going _too_ horribly.

He sighed, thinking about what he was gonna do with his day. Steve had deadlines coming up, so he probably wouldn't have the time to drag Bucky anywhere. There was a list of books he wanted to read and films he wanted to watch waiting for him in his room, but the idea of focusing on anything for too long a time felt unbearable.

_People_ , he realised. He wanted company. He wanted something to fill the silence that wasn't his own thoughts. He wanted out of the scared loneliness. He frowned.

Sam probably needed some time to himself after the disaster that last night had been. So Bucky texted Natasha.

_Hey. I'm bored and I want to get out of the apartment. Want to do anything?_

He attached a picture of a puppy before sending the text.

_Me and Jess were gonna do some shopping later. You could come. You'll be impeding on Quality Girl Time but we might forgive you if you buy us a frappucino._

Bucky smiled at the reply, which he had received a minute after sending his own text. He immediately wrote back too.

_Gender roles are for square and I'll even treat you to extra whipped cream._

Natasha's response came in a matter of seconds:

_C U @ 2_

It was already getting on twelve. Bucky brought his phone back to his bedroom and looked for some clothes. Staring at his wardrobe, he wondered why he was even trying, and settled for a pair of low riding jeans ripped at the knees and a black v-neck with a faded design he had once found in a thrift store.

He put his prosthetic back on before dressing up, wincing as it settled into place. He moved his shoulder a little to see that everything was working fine, and finally put on his clothes. Opening his windows to let some air in, he deemed it too warm to wear a jacket without making it seem weird. On the other hand, his shiny metal prosthetic was on the conspicuous side as well.

He texted Natasha again.

_Do you mind the arm? It's gonna get stares._

Natasha didn't reply immediately, so Bucky took a few minutes to make his bed and clean the kitchen table. He was considering vacuuming the living room for the second time in five days when his friend replied.

_You know I'm fine with it and Jess says ok too. We're used to getting stared at :P_

He smiled, kind of relieved.

He would have to take the bus and the metro to get to Nat's favorite commercial neighbourhood, but all in all it shouldn't take him much more than half an hour. Which meant he still had more than an hour to kill.

He walked to Steve's room and knocked on the door. There was no answer. Bucky stepped inside anyway and saw his best friend hunched over his drawing tablet, headphones on his head. He still hadn't noticed Bucky's presence, so he tapped on Steve's shoulder to get his attention. Steve jumped, dropping his tablet pen, and took off his headphones. Bucky could hear the music pouring out of them from where he was standing.

Which meant that Steve probably hadn't been able to figure out all of his problems with Sam. Not exactly surprising, though Bucky had allowed himself to hope.

“Hey. I'm gonna hang out with Nat and Jessica this afternoon. Gonna do some shopping or whatever.”

Steve's face went through a series of expressions, from surprise to disappointment, to the encouraging smile he had been wearing nearly constantly since Bucky's return. It kind of made the other man's skin crawl, even though he knew Steve meant well.

“Ok. Cool. Have fun.”

“We might walk past that fancy art supplies shop you like. Do you want anything?”

Steve thought about it, fiddling with his headphone cable while music screached out at low volume. “Actually I need to pick up some new markers, but I don't have the color names so I'll just stop by myself at some point. Thanks for asking though.”

Bucky nodded. He wasn't sure whether to just walk out now or not. Steve was looking distracted, not like he needed to go back to work immediately.

Bucky cleared his throat. “How did the conversation with Sam go?”

Steve's expression immediately darkened. “It went. He was pretty mad.”

“Did you talk about you and Peggy or...”

Steve looked away. Definitely _or_ then.

“I didn't. I mean, I told him we had gone to a bar, that I was already a bit drunk, that I got distracted. But I didn't tell him we kissed. How would I even bring that up anyway? I don't... I didn't cheat on him. Me and Peggy... It had nothing to do with him.”

Bucky could see that Steve himself didn't believe that.

“Sure. You're still worked up about it, though.”

Steve shrugged, bending down to pick up his tablet pen.

“He was pretty mad. Because I did wrong by you.” He looked up at that and Bucky did his best to hold his gaze and not look away. He didn't want to be someone that Steve had to care for, someone he had to shape his life around. But at the same time he knew had he had been in a pretty bad shape when he wasn't sure where Steve was. “And I guess I'm pretty mad at myself for that too. And I did it for a girl. Because I was too busy snogging like a high-schooler.”

“Well, you never did get much snogging in high-school, except with me,” Bucky said, a poor attempt to diffuse the tension.

Steve threw is barely retrieved pen at him. “You're a jerk.”

“You're a punk.”

Steve tentatively grinned. He started fiddling with his headphones once more. “I just keep thinking... Sam is just a maybe.” Bucky raised an eyebrow. “But if last night is any indication, Peggy is a definite yes-”

“Do you really like her?”

Steve blushed and mumbled something inaudible.

“What was that?”

“I used to have a crush on her pre-T. But I think... I think she had a girlfriend at the time. And we were still together.”

Bucky arched an eyebrow at the last part of his sentence.

“What? I never even flirted with her. I just had a crush, I didn't cheat on you.”

“But this isn't new, then.”

“What, me and Peggy?”

“You getting a crush on several people at once.”

Steve shrugged. “I guess. I mean... That's not... weird. Right? I mean, loads of people have more than one crush.”

“Sure. Crushes in a broad sense. Hypothetical stuff. Not serious ones.”

“Sure, they do. Why would people cheat on each other otherwise?”

“Why would they choose to be in a commited exclusive relationship?”

Steve looked down at his hands and stayed silent for a moment. Bucky was glad to feel that all of his anger and frustration towards his friend had disappeared. Steve was just confused. That, and if Bucky really wanted to make others believe that he didn't need to be cared for, he had to stop freaking out when others weren't there to take care of him.

Steve sighed. “Gimme back my pen and get out of here before you give me more existential crises. I've got work to do.”

“You would make a cripple pick up a pen that _you_ threw at him?”

Steve raised an unimpressed eyebrow, and Bucky bent down to give him back his pen, a smile on his face.

 

Bucky busied himself aimlessly for 50 more minutes before finally picking up a scarf to wrap around his neck, putting on some sneakers and leaving the apartment. He was about to get on the bus when he felt his phone vibrate in his pant pocket. He found a spot to sit next to a woman who clutched her purse more closely when she saw him approach. Pulling his cellphone out of his jeans, he was happily surprised to see it was a message from Clint. He had almost forgotten that he had texted the man.

Clint didn't seem to have been offended by Bucky's lack of proper greeting.

_my best friend's love life is stealing both my pizza and my dog's affection :((((_

He was thinking of what he could reply when he received another text.

_Why is your best friend being an idiot tho?_

That was easy to reply to. Ah.

_He's a natural at it. Also he went out and forgot to turn on his phone, got drunk, kissed a girl, and came home to me and his crush both panicking because we didn't know where he was. Now he's having existential crises._

Let Clint find a way to react to that. Bucky put his phone back in his pocket and let his mind wander for a while. He decidedly did not look at the woman next to him, paying attention to the other people in the bus instead. Steve often told him he was good at inventing stories. Had even promised he would illustrate Bucky's first book if the man finally got his head out of his ass and sat down to write it. And sure, it sounded nice. Bucky liked telling stories. Looking at the people on the bus, he liked picking out interesting details about them, like the fact that a girl on her phone standing a few feet away had mismatched earrings, and assigning them a deep backstory. (The girl's earrings were actually enchanted and she used different combinations of them to cast different spells.) He didn't think the actual act of writing would suit him that much though. It seemed like it would just be an awful lot of time alone with his own thoughts.

Not that he wasn't already spending too much time alone with his thoughts. He looked back at how little had happened to him since he had been back from the hospital. At how many parties he had refused to go to. How many times he had declined his friends' invitations for a drink. How he hadn't been to a concert in years. He thought of all the movies he had watched, all the books he had read. All the music he had listened to without ever feeling the raw connection he had tried to describe to Clint days ago.

Bucky thought about cold and dark, and it felt scary. He thought about sweat, about too much warmth, noises he couldn't predict, blinding light and deep, deep darkness. It felt even scarier.

He stepped off two stops later then took the metro.

At the exit, he immediately spotted Nat and Jessica, leaning side by side on the railing of the staircase leading to the station. Natasha wasn't really hard to miss with her bright red hair, and Jessica was wearing a yellow crop top contrasting nicely with her brown skin. They were definitely all gonna get stared at.

The two women greeted him enthusiastically as he took the last few steps. Natasha even went as far as to give him a hug, which he returned a little stiffly. “Hey girls. Thanks for letting me crash your Quality Time.”

Jessica shrugged, smirking underneath her dark sunglasses. “Nat told me you were buying Frapucinnos, so you're off the hook until then.”

Bucky laughed as they all started walking. Their favorite neighbourhood to go shopping in was outside of the city center. There was a mall on one side, but if you walked a bit in the other direction you could find some nice smaller boutiques. Their prices could be a bit high sometimes, though already better than in some of the pseudo-hipster hubs downtown.

The girls talked about a bit of everything as they walked from shop to shop, always commenting on the clothes the other was looking at, and dragging Bucky into the conversation every time they disagreed on an item. Although Jessica's tastes for bright colors was sometimes a bit too much for Bucky, he had to admit she had a better eye for coordinating things than Natasha did.

Throughout the afternoon, he received a few more texts from Clint, starting with:

_Existential crises plural? I mean, been there done that but still_

He had explained the situation a bit more, and Clint had asked whether any of the people involved would consider a polyamorous relationship. He had then added as a disclaimer that he was probably the worst person to get romantic advice from, though, and also _could we change the subject please_ before he started ranting about how alloromantic people always made things more dramatic than they had to be.

And so Bucky had changed the subject of conversation, instead asking Clint what kind of dog he had.

He was sitting on a table outside a Starbucks coffeeshop – Steve would have complained about them supporting big corporations, but the cute privately owned place didn't make frappucinos – when he received three pictures of a sand-colored dog. One of them was of the dog eating pizza.

_He's a mutt and half-blind and a pizza thief but I love him_

Bucky couldn't help but smile, and he sent back a series of heart eyes emoji. When he looked up, Jessica was looking at him above her sunglasses, drinking her caramel frappucino through its straw.

“What's so interesting on your phone that it would distract you from our stellar company?”

Bucky resisted the temptation to put his phone away, since it would only arouse more suspicion. And it wasn't as if he actually had anything to hide.

“Just chatting with a friend.”

“A friend we don't know?” Natasha asked, sipping at her own drink in a way that was eerily similar to her girlfriend's. Having both girls' attention focused on him was kind of terrifying, now that Bucky thought about it.

He didn't even think of being hurt by Nat's question. She kind of had a point.

“Remember when I came with you to Jess' party weeks ago? I met a guy there.” He shrugged. “We met up once for coffee, and he just sent me pictures of his dog.”

The two girls exchanged a look that made something drop in Bucky's stomach.

“Is he cute?” Jessica had, a smirk on her face.

_Here it goes_ , Bucky thought as he rolled his eyes. He took a sip of his own coffee. “Are you really gonna ask me that?”

She shrugged. “Well, you met him at a queer party. So there's a pretty high chance he might be into you. Which leads me to asking whether you're into him.”

Bucky shaked his head. “He's not _into me_.”

Jess leaned back a little. “How do you know?”

“Not my story to tell.” He really hoped that the girls would drop it after that, and to his relief they did.

They went back to the subway station after their drinks, the girls with a bag each and Bucky with a new pair of jeans, a pair of boots and a sweater they had found in a thrift shop. Bucky sent Clint another text, wondering not for the first time why he had been so scared to talk to the guy again.

_Worst thing than having to fix someone else's love life is your friends prying into yours._

Clint replied almost immediately.

_Good luck prying into the void ahah_

Bucky decided to interpret the laughter as genuine and not ironic, and put his phone away with a smile. Nat saw him do it and raised an eyebrow, to which Bucky replied with a glare. She didn't comment.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter feels kind of fragmented to me, but hopefully you'll like it anyway.
> 
> Also, if you're wondering, literally every single city mentioned in this fic is somehow based off Brussels. Sorry, I work with what I know.

Bucky and Clint had another coffee together. Then Clint invited him for pizza and movie night at his place, saying he would be Clint's buffer against “Amerikate's romantic bullshit.” Amerikate turned out to be Kate Bishop and America Chavez, respectively Clint's best friend/protégée and her girlfriend. He also met Lucky on the same occasion, Lucky being Clint's dog, an animal whose thirst for human warmth could only be detered by a more important search for pizza.

Bucky looked forward to getting out of the house these days. His therapist was very enthusiastic about his progress and told him so repeatedly.

When a singer he followed announced a show in a nearby town, a month from now, Bucky took it as a sign. Steve had dragged him to his first show when he was fourteen, and at one point they had been seeing local performances at least every month. As it was, he hadn't been to a concert in more than three years. The realisation of how much time had truly passed always hit him like a fist to the gut.

Bucky wanted to go. He really, really wanted to. He thought he could handle it now. The idea of being in a dark room filled with strangers wasn't exactly _appealing_ , but if he had something to focus on... Yeah. He wanted to do this. Still. Going alone was a no-go. Not when there were so many things that could go wrong. So he put himself down as interested on the facebook event for the show and started dropping a few hints to Steve about it.

Bucky had noticed his friend acting slightly odd in the last two weeks, but only realised how wrong things were then. None of his sneaky-yet-obvious attempts at bringing up the concert earned him more than a half-raised eyebrow. Steve would have been all over him if they had an occasion to go out, before. Bucky had imagined that Steve's enthusiasm would be physically difficult to restrain. And now... nothing. Bucky felt hurt. And frustrated at himself for being so hypocritical. He had been telling Steve to stop being a mother hen for months, he shouldn't feel betrayed now that his friend was actually following his advice.

He did the conversational equivalent of poking something with a stick, which was to ask if something was up. Steve shrugged, stretched his arms above his head, then went back to only half-listening to the conversation. Bucky frowned.  
He dropped the subject, at least with Steve. Obviously the guy was working through some things, and Bucky was petty enough not to stick his nose in it if he didn't have to.

Instead he mentionned the concert to Clint. It had actually bothered Bucky endlessly since he had found out that Clint had never been to a concert in his life. Not. One. Concert.

Bucky hadn't even tried to hide his surprise when his friend had told him, though he _had_ made an attempt to disguise the horror that accompanied it. Clint, oblivious, had just shrugged it off and kept going through the conversation.

So one time, Bucky took a deep breath, and he asked. He blurted out some nonsense about the singer first, how she wrote politically-involved folk songs with a hint of humor, then mentioned the show three weeks from then and paused.

“Would you like to come with?”

Clint stared at him for a moment, hovering over his mug of coffee. “Uh. Nobody's ever asked me that before.”

“Really?” Bucky asked. Were none of Clint's friends musically inclined? Was this a conspiracy?

“Well, yeah,” Clint said. And he pointed to his ears.

His ears, where his hearing aids were. Bucky felt the heat rise to his cheeks and had to physically restrain himself from putting his head in his arms.  
“Oh god. I'm sorry. I didn't think, I...”

“Hey, dude, chill,” Clint interrupted him. “I would love to come with. Usually people don't even think to ask because they assume I don't listen to music at all, which to be fair I don't do often, but like... I still have partial hearing. And the music should be pretty loud, right? So it could be fun.”

Bucky was taken aback for a second. “Great! Yeah, cool! I'll... I'll buy the tickets then?”

“Sure,” Clint said, taking a sip of his coffee. He looked unbothered, smiling.

“Sorry I...”

“Shh. It's fine. People forget it or make assumptions all the time. You didn't mean any harm by it, and I never gave you the full crash course on hearing issues so... You're fine, Barnes.”

Bucky rubbed at his lef wrist self-consciously. He noticed Clint's gaze being drawn there, but the other man didn't say anything. Both of them let the moment pass, before Clint started up a new conversation.

 

Three more weeks before the concert. Three weeks meant three sessions with his psychiatrist and one of physical therapy. It was a lot of time to pace the inside of their apartment when Steve was away, even if he had lunch with Sam once and with Natasha another. Even if he spent a movie night with Clint, Kate and some of their friends.  
He really needed to get a hobby, since his therapists seem reluctant to clear him for work anytime soon.

Still. The three weeks passed, somehow.

Bucky picked out the boots he had bought the month before, a trusty pair of jeans and a somewhat tight-fitting band shirt he had once “decorated” with safety pins. He tied his hair back so they wouldn't fall in his face. He should really get it cut at some point. Growing it out had been fun, a comforting gesture of defiance against military norms, but he was growing tired of the scruffy look it gave him.

Looking at himself in the mirror, he had sudden flashbacks of getting dressed up with Steve when they were still teenagers. Steve in a skirt and ripped tights ordering him not to move as he did Bucky's make up. He wondered if they still had eyeliner somewhere in the apartment. Probably not.

He'd have to ask, though.

He took his jacket with him, and walked back through the kitchen, making sure he had his phone and his wallet with him.

Steve was watching TV in the living room, scrolling through social mediat at the same time.

“I'm heading out, see you tomorrow.”

The blond looked up, surprised. “Uh?”

Bucky frowned. Had he forgotten again? “The Grace Petrie show? I told you I was gonna go.”

Steve looked confused for a second longer before apparently realising. It wasn't the first time Bucky had told him though. Had Steve really been that distracted this past month?  
It was a worrying thought. Bucky had mostly been trying to give his friend some space, figuring that since he was himself always asking for that courtesy he ought to give it back. Maybe it was time he got more involved in his best friend's life again, though, if the other man was still as confused as before.

“Clint is driving, so he'll drop me off when we come back. We might go for a bite or a drink after the show though, so I'm not sure when that'll be. You can go to sleep if you want to.”

Steve nodded slowly. Now that he was looking, Bucky could see that he had bags under his eyes and was blinking more quickly than usual. Part of him wanted to stop, walk to his friend, ask him if he was okay and spend the evening making sure he would be. That part of him was scared out of its mind to be stuck in a dark room full of people for two hours and a half.

“I'll text you once the show's over, let you know how it was. Okay?”

Steve nodded. “Yeah. Have fun!” He smiled and gave a little wave.

Bucky waved back and took a step towards the hallway. He stopped before the door though. “Hey, Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“You work too hard. You should get some rest this weekend. Let go a little.”

Steve laughed a little bitterly and ran a hand through his short hair. “Yeah. Sure.”

“Okay. Bye.”

He closed the door behind him and took a deep breath. Then he took the stairs out of the apartment building.  
  
He reached Clint's flat 35 minutes after that and sent him a text to say he was outside. A few seconds later, he heard a shout and looked up to see Clint leaning out of his window. “I'll be down in like... two minutes!” Clint shouted. Bucky replied with a thumbs up and leant against the wall as he waited. Clint's neighbourhood was on the slightly shady side, but the blond had a good relationship with all of his neighbours, so Bucky didn't really feel awkward. Despite the area, Clint also had a rather spacious living space, which meant his job – whatever it was – must pay well.

Clint appeared a few minutes later in light blue jeans, a purple v-neck that Bucky remembered having seen him wear before and purple converse. His hair was in complete disarray and Bucky noticed a long cut on the one arm that wasn't holding his black sweater.

“Yo! How are you doing?”

“I'm good. Excited. It's been a while since I last went to a show.” _It's kind of terrifying_ , Bucky didn't say.

“Oh, good. Makes me feel a little less inadequate.”

Bucky smiled. “You'll be fine. And if you feel uncomfortable, we can just leave. I'll have done my duty by just trying to drag you out there.”  
“And the country thanks you for it,” Clint replied with a mock salute.

Bucky let his friend lead the way to a car that looked way too fancy to be parked in this area of town. He stared at Clint. “This is yours?”

Clint grinned. “You like it? I bought if off this cute redhead girl one time... She was mixed up in some pretty bad business and honestly I'm not really sure if this is all legal but-” He shrugged. “I got myself a sweet ride and I helped a fellow citizen. Or, well, I think she was a citizen. It's not really the kind of thing you ask.”

Bucky gaped at him for a second, impressed at Clint's recklessness and what seemed like a total lack of self-awareness. Still, when the blond climbed into the bright red vintage car, Bucky followed him.

_God_. The seats had even been refurbished.

 

It was a fifty minutes drive to reach the town the concert was held in, plus ten minutes to find an adequate parking spot. Because Clint apparently trusted his neighbourhood enough to leave his car out, but he wasn't that enthusiastic about doing the same in an other town. They reached t he concert venue a few minutes before the show was due to start.

They building held two different venues on different floors, and they were on the top one, where the stage was smaller. There were already a number of people there, though the room was far from crowded.

Bucky actually had no idea who the opening act was, but he thought that if he wanted to give Clint the full concert experience, they had to be there for it anyway.

Enjoying the fact there wasn't much of a crowd, they got a drink at the bar as they waited for the lights to dim. Bucky kept his leather jacket on the whole time, though he could feel the heat start to rise and knew he would have to take it off soon enough.

They moved closer to the stage as the first act started, a young singer-songwriter and his accoustic guitar singing about heartbreak and lost opportunities. The kid wasn't bad, but he didn't have anything special to him either. He had added two covers to his set, which got the audience a little more into it as people joined in and started to sing.

Clint seemed to be doing fine next to him, tapping his foot to the beat.

For his part, Bucky was feeling pretty amazing. He hadn't been able to resist spotting the exits and possibilities for cover as he entered, and once again as the lights had dimmed. Now however, the crowd around him seemed welcoming. It helped that people weren't pressed against each other, but Bucky felt that something else was at play also. All the people here were there for the same reason as him. There was no hostility in the room, just a shared enthusiasm.  
Bucky focused on the music and on his breathing, letting the warmth of human presence envelop him.  
Clint grinned at him from where he was standing, close enough that they were almost touching but without it feeling invading.

The first act was over after half an hour and both men turned towards each other, awaiting the other's reaction.

“You doing okay?” Bucky asked.

Clint nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah. This is cool. I mean, I might not undersand how crazy you get about it just yet, but I'm really enjoying myself so far.”

Bucky grinned. “Honestly that guy wasn't even that good. The main act should be much better. But I'm glad you're having fun.”

Clint, only wearing his t-shirt, sweater around his waist, pointed at Bucky's jacket. “Aren't you warm?”

Bucky looked down. _Here goes nothing_ , he thought. “Actually, I kind of am.” He shrugged out of his jacket and tied it around his waist, not looking at Clint until it was carefully secured on his hips and he didn't have any more excuses to avoid eye-contact.  
His prosthetic arm ended in a clutch that almost perfectly imitated the look of real fingers, if not for the fact they couldn't move individually, but the rest of the arm was bare metal, with a very visible joint at the elbow. It wasn't exactly an inconspicuous model, even if the place it attached to his stump was thankfully hidden by his t-shirt. He had only every worn long sleeves around Clint so far, for the two months they had known each other. This was the other man's first look at the entirety of the prosthesis.

Bucky looked up. Clint's gaze immediately moved from his metal prosthetic to his face. “I feel better this way. I was getting second-hand heatwaves just by standing next to you.”

He didn't comment. He didn't ask. Bucky felt thrown off by it, actually wondering whether it wouldn't have been easier if Clint _had_ asked. They could have had The Conversation, then, and Bucky wouldn't have to worry about it anymore. Still, it was nice to see that Clint wasn't looking away, and it helped Bucky anchor himself as he felt other people begin to stare at him.

Nobody could see the scars, at least. The arm might be intriguing, but the scars were the truly gruesome part.  
They made small-talk for a while and waited for the main act to begin. Both of them prefered to keep their spot instead of going to grab a drink.  
Now that there was no more music to focus on, Bucky could feel an itch growing in his chest, the familiar weight of anxiety settling over his shoulders. He could feel eyes on him. He was accutely aware of the dozens of bodies around him, of the equal number of threats they implied. He could imagine how hard it would be to make his way through the crowd, didn't have to imagine it as he saw people struggling to find their friends after a bar run.  
Their bubble of personal space was growing ever smaller as people tried to get closer to the stage.  
Bucky kept on talking to Clint, trying to copy the rhythm of the other man's voice with his breathing. He tried to sort through the information that was flooding his brain, differentiating as many smells and separate sounds as he could. He wasn't going to freak out.  
Finally, the lights dimmed once more. A short woman came on stage with her guitar, as people started cheering. Two more musicians walked to their place under the spotlight.  
The singer bent at her waist in a mock salute, the guitar impeding her movements, and settled at the mic. “How are you doing, guys?”

A few people shouted, and she nodded. “I'll take that as a good sign.”

She bent her head slightly and started strumming her instrument.

Bucky vaguely knew the song, though it wasn't one of his favorite. He had felt an almost physical shift in attention as the singer had entered the stage, everyone looking away from him and towards her. He, too, kept his eyes trained on her, and in doing so managed to ignore the closeness of everyone around him as well as the suffocating warmth.

He tapped his foot alongside most songs, moved his shoulders in time with some, and shouted during some of the most political and angry choruses. Some people were pushing behind him, although most of those jumping were in front of Clint and Bucky, in the first three rows. All in all, it was manageable. And the music was good. During one particular song, the singer used a loop pedal and layered a simple beat tapped on the side of her guitar with a series of strummed chords, before picking up a more complex melody. She didn't sing for quite a long time, but Bucky didn't care. He was fascinated by the movements of her fingers on the guitar strings, remembering what it used to feel like to play his own instrument. He had played electric guitar and a bit of accoustic, both badly, angrily, only just able to follow a rhythm. He missed it even so. But he wouldn't be able to pick up the guitar, not anymore. He lacked the finer movement control.

The singer's voice came in softly after the long intro, appearing almost as if it had always been there, but quickly picking up in strength. The song was a love song, maybe. Definitely an angry song. It was bitter, almost painful. Bucky found himself singing louder than he had during any other tune, carried away by the energy. After a final burst of lyrics, the song started echoing to an end. Bucky blinked, warmth rising through his chest and to his face. He finally dared to take a look around. Next to him, Clint was staring at the stage, transfixed, still moving to the rhythm of the song dying off.

The warmth in Bucky's cheek turned from suffocating to the comfortable buzzing of happiness. Clint turned slightly and caught his gaze. He grinned, pupils dilated. Bucky felt his lips open slightly. They held each other's gaze for the five longest seconds of Bucky's life, then Clint broke eye contact and started clapping with the rest of the audience.

The singer thanked her public and walked offstage, and Clint turned to Bucky once again.

“That was really good!” the blond man exclaimed. “Thanks for bringing me.”

“We still have to wait for the encore though,” Bucky replied, shouting to be heard above the clapping and shouting of the rest of the audience.

“Encore?”

“Yeah. The singer walks offstage, but we call her back, and then she usually sings two or three more songs.”

“Oh. Cool!”

Bucky smiled. He couldn't remember ever going to a show with someone who knew so little about how it all worked. Clint's wonder was strangely endearing. And Bucky was truly glad that the man was enjoying himself.

Bucky didn't clap, it felt too awkward with the prosthetic, but he shouted a few times until the singer came back. She played a song from her first album, one that Bucky knew by heart, and once again he started singing with her, letting himself be carried away. He could feel Clint brush against his arm against him, and it all felt right.

The two men grinned at each other again once the concert was actually over, and they waited until the crowd cleared out a little before leaving the building. They talked about the show on their way to the car. As they stood next to the vehicle, Bucky still only wearing his t-shirt, reflections from the streetlight overhead glinting on his prosthetic, they crossed gaze again.

Bucky let the end of his sentence dangle in the air, voice trailing off. They kept staring at each other.

Bucky didn't want to think. His blood was still pulsing with adrenaline. It had all gone so well, it had all been so easy. He felt like none of his fears mattered right now. He didn't want to think anymore. Not ever.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked. It sounded awkward in his mouth, his voice slightly rough from shouting for an hour.

There was a beat of silence.

“Can I say _fuck yes_ now, kiss you, and _then_ have the big talk about boundaries ?” Clint said, taking a step closer to Bucky and extending his hand in what seemed to be an unconscious gesture. “Because I really want to kiss you, but I also have to give you the big talk about boundaries.”

Bucky grinned. He could work with that. He could fall back to that attitude he used to have, the easy flirting he had developed in highschool, the precise movements he had practiced with Steve afterwards. He could lose himself to that. Not in a bad way. Just enough that his body would act on its own so that he could take it all in, record everything.

He reached for Clint's shoulder and crossed the distance between their faces. He kept the press of their lips soft at first, trying things out. Every girl he had kissed had felt different. Steve had felt different. The fact that Clint was the first man with stubble that Bucky kissed emphasised it even more. The blond grabbed Bucky's shir with a hand, before bringing it to his face, deepening the embrace. He opened his lips against Bucky's, giving them a tentative lick. Bucky parted his own mouth, let him in.

It was late enough that not a lot of people would probably walk by. Bucky silently thanked the fact that Clint had cared enough for his car to park it a little away from the concert venue. Still, if someone did pass by, standing as they were right under a streetlight, they would offer a pretty stunning view.

Bucky laughed into the kiss at the thought, and Clint stepped away slightly. From such a short distance, Bucky realised that the other man was actually a tiny bit taller than him. Clint was searching his gaze, probably for the reason of his laughter or an indication of whether he should keep going. Bucky raised a hand to his neck. It was his left one. Clint didn't seemed bothered by it, and Bucky guessed it still retained some of the warmth of the concert. Clint leaned into the touch and let himself be guided back to Bucky's mouth. They kissed again, seconds stretching into minutes. This wasn't like the passionate first kisses Bucky had had with other partners. It was soft and playful as they gently nipped at one another's lips. There was no desperation here.

Bucky started shaking.

Clint immediately pulled away, putting two hands on the other man's shoulders. “Are you okay? Bucky, are you okay?”

Bucky nodded, then shaked his head. He took a step back, then smiled, trying to sound reassuring and not too strained. “I'm fine. I'm good. I'm amazing. It's just... a lot.”

Clint took a step back as well. Bucky could suddently feel the cold of the evening settle on the naked skin of his right arm.

“So... boundaries, uh?” Clint said with a raised eyebrow. He didn't look hurt or dejected, mostly considering. There was still the shadow of a smile dancing on his lips.

“Boundaries,” Bucky nodded. In reality, he didn't feel half as sure as Clint seemed to be, and didn't know how he would be able to explain the confusion floating through his head. It had felt right to kiss Clint. It had felt nice. It had felt unfamiliar, but easy. Nice. But he wasn't sure what it meant.

“Should we just go? Talk in the car?”

Bucky nodded. He untangled his jacket from his hips, shrugged it on, then climbed in the car. He didn't look at Clint as he started the engine, and stared pointedly at the windshield instead. Somehow it felt like the safer conduct.

“So,” Clint said, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. “Boundaries.”

Bucky grunted in acknowledgement, but didn't actually say anything.

“Should I start with mine, and we'll do yours afterwards?”

Bucky turned slightly to look at him. Clint looked away from the road for a second, then focused again. His look was open. Safe.

“Okay. You start.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grace Petrie is a real singer and you should check her stuff out because she's awesome~


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If someone wants to help me count how many tropes I've included in this ridiculously self-indulging piece of work, feel free.

Clint took a deep breath. “Okay. So I know you know I'm arospec. Because we talked about it. And, like, I have boundaries when it comes to that. So, like... You want to kiss me? Cool. Awesome. I want to kiss you too. Kissing you was great. Wanna fuck? Eh, why not? You're hot, I would be into it. But I won't be your boyfriend. Like, ever. I don't mind going on _dates_ , but even if we do we won't be _dating_. I have a pretty vague notion of what counts as romantic and not in my book, what I feel comfortable or uncomfortable with. I might agree to something and then realize it hits one of my limits. I don't know. Also, I sound really presomptuous right now because I don't even know whether you're actually into me or not.”

Clint stopped talking. His mouth closed, interrupting the flow of word in an abrupt instant. There was silence. Probably he was waiting for a reply from Bucky, but the other man didn't really know what to say. He was processing, trying to wrap his head around what it meant, to go on dates but not be dating, to be kissing someone who wasn't his boyfriend.

It didn't sound bad _per se_. Just weird. Confusing. It was still intimate, but not as emotionally exclusive as a romantic relationship. Now that he thought about it, he wasn't sure he would know how to deal with an emotionally exclusive relationship. His therapist often talked about the importance of a support network, the idea that he should surround himself with people who could help him carry the weight of his trauma, but that he also couldn't rely on only one person. It was a matter of taking care of himself but being aware of other people's needs as well. He wasn't sure how a romantic relationship would fit into that. And there was also the fact that his relationship to Steve was still a bit weird, as Steve's assumption that Bucky might not be dating because he still had feelings for him had made clear.  
But all of this was unknown.

“Bucky? I can't be the only one talking in here. Please don't let me be the only one talking. I'll make an ass of myself if I have to.”

It was tempting to let the other man go on, but Bucky knew that this wasn't a situation in which to joke. “Sorry. I was thinking. All of that it doesn't... It doesn't sound bad. It sounds nice, actually. I...” He hesitated. It was nice to have someone directly discuss limits and boundaries, but at the same time Bucky felt like it added to the pressure. If there were rules, there was the possibility to make mistakes. He didn't want to make mistakes. Tonight had felt good, it had felt easy and right. He didn't want to mess that up. How would he know when to back off? “I don't know how I'll handle it, though. I don't want to be pushing, I don't want to ever make you uncomfortable.”

Clint smiled, though he was still focused on the road ahead of him. “That's okay. It's how it works between people. No relationship – romantic, platonic, whatever – no relationship is ever perfect. We mess things up, but then we try to fix them.”

Bucky nodded. “I guess.”

There was silence for a few seconds. Then Clint started speaking again. “What about you? Are there any boundaries you want to set from the get go?”

“I'm not sure.” He had never thought about it in such direct ways. Actually, he wasn't even sure what _it_ was. If their kiss was any indication, their relationship was progressing in a direction Bucky hadn't let himself consider in the past months. He had to re-assess. “I meant it when I said it was nice kissing you-” He could feel his lips tingle slightly at the memory, and had to stop himself from touching them with his fingers. “and... And I guess I'd like to do it again. But it's been a while since I last got close to someone. Or let someone get close to me. As a friend or as... anything. I'm not...”

How could he explain it all? How could he just say it when he himself, who had lived through it, still had trouble grasping the truth of it? Could he just say _trauma,_ _injury, hospitalization_? “I've got baggage. Issues. That might get hard to deal with. And I'm not... I don't really know where my boundaries lie when it comes to them.”

It wasn't anywhere as clearly well-phrased as Clint's speech. Bucky was uncomfortable voicing how confusing he found his own thoughts and desires. It had taken him long enough to open to his therapist, or even to Steve.

“Hey, that's fine. You're doing fine. We don't have to deal with everything right now.”

Bucky nodded.

“You have to tell me, though,” Clint continued. “What do you want?” Bucky furrowed his brows, looking at the man's profile as he drove. “That's how we figure out how things work. If you tell me what you want, I can tell you whether it's something I can give. And vice versa. Once again, we don't have to talk about all of this now. It's just something to think about.” He turned for a second, just enough to give Bucky a reassuring smile.

Bucky didn't know what to say to that, so he kept silent. Somehow, it wasn't really uncomfortable. The air didn't feel heavy, despite all the unsaid things hanging in it.

“Do you want to have a drink at my place before I drop you off? No pressure, just a beer and a chat.”

Bucky thought about it for a second. He didn't really want to say no, but he didn't feel comfortable saying yes either. He shaked his head. “Thanks for the invite. But I think I'll head home. I need to think, I think. So I can get back to you.”

“Yeah, no, sure.” Clint sounded a bit disappointed, though he was still smiling. Bucky wondered what he was truly thinking under the comforting facade. Those kinds of moment helped him realise how little he actually knew Clint. Bucky couldn't help but compare him to the relationship he had with Steve, though he knew it wasn't fair at all. He had known Steve for years, had grown up with him. He had been there for nearly all of his struggles. Of course they could read each other like open books. Bucky knew it wasn't healthy to hold other people to such high standards. But it was always there at the back of his mind.

“Hey,” Bucky said softly, wanting to reach for Clint but also careful not to distract him from his driving. “I had a great time tonight. I... I'm really glad you came to the show with me. Actually, I probably wouldn't have gone if you hadn't been there.”

Clint grinned, an expression that Bucky was starting to see as his trademark. “I had fun too. And I'm glad you won't be able to complain about me needing an education anymore.”

The remark was trying to diffuse the tension, and Bucky seized the opportunity. “Oh, there are loads of other things about which you need to be educated. I won't let you off the hook so easily.”

Clint faked a groan of despair. “I honestly have no clue why I thought it was a good idea to kiss you.”

Bucky froze for a quarter of a second. Were they going to joke about that already?

“Because you're kind of an asshole,” Clint continued.

Bucky decided to play it cool, casual. It was just like it had been when they had kissed, he just had to let himself fall back to the teenager full of charisma, the one who didn't think about anything else than enjoying the game of it all.

“You try to offend me, but I can readily admit that my ass is my best feature.”

Clint snorted at that, shaking his head in disbelief. “Oh my god. I can't believe you just said that. You just forever changed the way I see you.”

Bucky shrugged. “You gotta know what your assets are.” The words were coming easily to his lips. It made him uncomfortable. He didn't want to be the kind of person able to wear a role like it was a second skin. He wanted to be real, here, in the moment. But this was so much easier. And so much safer.

“Preach, brother,” Clint agreed, raising a fist between them. Bucky knocked his own against it in an awkward approximation of a fist-bump. “Okay,” Clint said. “You're gonna have to give me directions now if you want to be dropped off in your actual neighbourhood and not ten miles away from it.”

Bucky nodded. “Keep going straight. We should reach a big crossroad, with a tunnel further up ahead...”

  


“How was last night?” Steve asked once Bucky had finally wandered into the kitchen. It was 1PM, and he had been awake for more than an hour, but just hadn't felt like moving. Steve was looking at him from over his glasses, mug of coffee in one hand and tablet in the other.

Bucky yawned and went to the coffee maker, gratefully noticing that Steve had left enough for him to pour himself a cup. “It was nice. Good show. Pretty relaxed.”

“Did Clint enjoy it?”

Bucky took a sip of his coffee before answering. “Yeah. He did. I was really glad, to be honest. You should have come. You'd have liked it.”

Steve nodded, in a manner too casual to be real. “Yeah. Maybe next time.”

Bucky shrugged.

Steve looked away, going back to reading something on his tablet. Bucky frowned. No question about the music, the songs that had been played. No question about how Bucky had handled the crowd, or on wether he had gone out with Clint afterwards. Nothing. Steve still wasn't acting like his normal mother-hen self, and it worried Bucky.

At the same time, he felt awkward asking if something was wrong. He had spent months trying to tell Steve to lay off him a little bit. Maybe his friend was just finally obliging. It was alright. It was good. It was progress, he supposed. It was supposed to be progress.

He had thought of Steve as an open book, while he had been with Clint. He had thought that he was able to decipher all of Steve's thoughts and emotions. But this wasn't true. Or at least it wasn't true anymore. Bucky felt like he was losing something, something he was desperate to hold onto. But he could do nothing except watch it slip away between his fingers. He walked back to his bedroom without a word, taking his coffee with him. He changed, putting on the same jeans as the day before but discarding the t-shirt that smelled too much like sweat. He drank his coffee, then put on his prosthesis. He walked into the bathroom, ran a brush through his hair a few times then brushed his teeth. He let his long hair fall naturally across his face and shoulders. He still needed to get it cut. Someday.

He walked through his bedroom, picked up his empty cup, and went back to the kitchen, putting it safely away in the dishwasher. Steve was still sitting at the kitchen table, empty mug and tablet down in front of him. Apparently, he was answering something on his phone.

“I'm going out,” Bucky said, making Steve look up. “I'll be back for dinner.”

“Yeah. Okay. Have fun.”

Bucky nodded and went out, closing the apartment door behind him and feeling like he was closing it on a problem. He probably couldn't expect the awkwardness to just disappear if he ignored it long enough, but he wasn't above trying anyway. He had never claimed to be the better person in this relationship or any other.

He had left the apartment because he had just wanted to leave, but he actually had no idea of where to go or what to do. He felt his stomach grumble and contract, upset by the black coffee he had drunk without having eaten anything in the past twelve hours. He walked into a small café that advertised a breakfast all day menu, and ordered an egg, some bacon, sausages and toast. He asked for juice instead of coffee. Considering how long he had slept, caffeine would be overkill.

Toying with his food, he half-listened to the conversations going on around him. He had some thinking to do. He owed it to Clint, after last night. But he didn't really know where to start.

He knew he was attracted to guys as well as girls. He had known that for a while, even before Steve had come out to him as trans. And he could definitely feel some attraction to Clint. He had wanted to kiss him, and he could imagine wanting to sleep with him. And he enjoyed spending time with the other man, wanted to do it more often, wanted to learn to know the guy. He truly did.

Still, he didn't feel the same way he had felt with other people before, not exactly. There was something different. And then there were Clint's boundaries. Even if Bucky did want it, a romantic relationship was out of the question. But if he was honest with himself, Bucky didn't know how to want anything other than that. He had learned to classify his partners into two categories: datemates or fuck-buddies. There had never been any kind of in-between before.

And Bucky had never had a big interest in fuck-buddies. He usually lost interest once he was certain the relationship wouldn't go any deeper.

Could he learn to cultivate that in-between space? Was it something that he wanted to do?

There was another option. Keep his relationship with Clint as it was. Ignore last night's kiss, ignore the tension between them, the unconscious flirting, the easiness with which they clicked. Keep on being friends, on seeing each other from time to time.

It wasn't a bad option.

But as Bucky thought about them kissing, he could feel his lips tingle. He realised how long it had been since he had had any sort of intimate physical contact with someone. After coming back from the hospital, even letting Steve hug him had been hard. So both of them had learned to keep their distance.

But he had wanted to kiss Clint. And so he had kissed him. And it had felt good, and it had felt like too much at once but also liked it hadn't been enough at all.

So maybe Bucky could learn. Maybe he could let Clint in and trust him to learn about his boundaries, and maybe he could let Clint let _him_ in, and maybe he could trust himself to respect the other man as well.

He pulled out his phone.

Once again, he didn't bother with proper greetings.

_I'm thinking about kissing you yesterday. I'd like to do it again._

He let his phone on the table as he kept on eating his food, and received a reply a few minutes later.

_Are you trying to sext with me?_

The cellphone beeped again.

_But also: :DDD_

Bucky grinned.

_I'm not sure sexting would work with you, those smileys are kind of a mood-killer._

The response didn't make him wait for long.

_:(((_

He received another text a second later, with an emoji of a peach and one of an eggplant. He couldn't help himself and started laughing out loud, earning himself a few glares.

 _You are the worst,_ Bucky texted back, receiving a winking emoji in answer.

He finished his food, paid for it, and went back to aimless wandering. He vaguely walked in the direction of the city center keeping a brisk pace despite the warm sunlight. It felt nice. He thought his head was clearer. He stopped to buy a bottle of water, leaning against a shop front to drink it.

His prosthetic was starting to itch where it met his skin, and he could feel the metal getting warm under the sun's glare.

On his way back home, he stopped in a make-up stored to buy some eyeliner. He couldn't remember which brand Steve used to use, and after staring at the display cases for a few minutes a sales assistant finally took pity on him and asked if she could help. He told her what he wanted, and she offered a few options of black eyeliners and Kohl pencils. He picked one that wasn't too expensive but seemed nice enough and paid for it, leaving with a small plastic bag in bright pink.

  


He went to the hairdresser three days after that, on a Wednesday while Steve was away working. He had been pacing the apartment after one of his regular cleaning sprees, when he had thought he'd had enough of being a coward. He walked a few blocks until he found a place that accepted walk-ins, and soon enough he was settled on a chair with a man hovering above him and asking him what he wanted. Bucky felt nervous. Steve had been the one to cut his hair the past few months, just a few centimeters each time to keep it acceptably neat. He didn't feel entirely comfortable letting a stranger touch it now. He took a deep breath, tightened the fingers of his right hand around the armrest.

“I'd like to get it shaved on the right side. Keep the left one long, but maybe take out two inches. Something like that.”

The hairdresser nodded, his gaze calculating. He put a hand on Bucky's head. Bucky froze, but didn't flinch away. The hairdresser said something, and he had to ask him to repeat.

“I said I could trim it short up to here-” He moved his fingers slightly. “so it would still fall at the back. Or I can just shave the whole side.”

Bucky wasn't sure what any of the options truly entailed. He hesitated. “I can start with shaving only part of it, and you can tell me if you want the rest cut too afterwards.”

Bucky nodded, relieved, and the man picked up his scissors.

Bucky kept his eyes trained on the mirror for the whole operation. His will was straining against every instinct that told him to get out of here.

Apparently, the hairdresser had enough empathy to sense how tensed Bucky was, and he didn't try to make small talk, instead concentrating on getting the haircut done as quickly as possible.

Bucky watched the strands of hair fall one by one. He watched his face become more and more unfamiliar each passing second. Although, once past the shock of all of this hair being cut, he found the face underneath familiar still. It was the face he had worn before his injury. The short-haired face of the teenager who let his mother book haircut appointments for him, and the short-haired face of the soldier.

The hairdresser stopped, walked across the room to pick up a mirror, and let him look at the back of his head. “So, what do you think? Should we leave it like that or do you want me to keep going?”

Bucky exhaled, relaxing his hands a bit. “Keep going.”

“Ok, no problem.” The hairdresser went back to work, then showed him the back of his head one more time. Bucky nodded, and even smiled a bit, earning himself a grin. The hairdresser added a few finishing touches to the look, then took out the hair dryer. Bucky felt himself relax a little more now that he didn't have anyone touching him. The hairdresser took up his scissors one last time, cutting a few ends so that they would all fall straight, and took up the mirror again.

Bucky nodded. “Yeah. Thanks. It looks good.”

The hairdresser smiled at him. “I'm glad.” Two people had walked into the salon since he had arrived, both taken care of by other people and chatting joyously. Bucky didn't want to feel ashamed of how scary such a simple thing as going to the hairdresser felt to him. He knew he ought not to feel ashamed, knew he had his reasons, knew he was working through things. He felt unable to muster any kind of enthusiasm as he handed the asked for cash to pay for his cut and left.

The apartment was still empty when he came back. Part of Bucky wanted to go to the bathroom and actually take the time to look at his haircut. The other part was screaming at him never to look at himself again. Feeling his breathing quicken, he crossed the kitchen to get into his bedroom, and impatiently switched on the laptop on his desk. He immediately opened his music library, and turned up the volume to the maximum as he let The Rezillos play. He retreated to his bed, bringing his feet close to his chest and trying to get his breathing back to normal. He was fine. He had wanted this. It was okay to want this. If he didn't like it he would just let his hair grow back. Long enough that he could hide behind it again.

He ran a hand along the shaved part of his head. The hairdresser had left just a few milimeters of hair. The sensation as he ran his fingers through it was weird. The hair was soft, but short enough that it felt slightly rough against his skin. Bucky realised he quite liked it, and kept on playing with his hair until he had enough air in his lungs once more.

He stayed where he was, listening to the music, for a while longer.

It was okay. He had wanted this. He had done it. He had made it through. He was okay.

He wondered what Steve would say, what he would think. If he would see it as a new step forward.

If he would even notice it.

The jab was mean-spirited, and he felt disappointed at himself. Bucky imagined that his jealousy could be turned into a small ball of matter. How he would love to crush it under his foot.

He finally stood up, switched the volume of his music to something more reasonable, and carried his laptop to the kitchen. It was still early to start on dinner, but Bucky had bought the ingredients to try a new casserole recipe, and he thought he might as well start it now and make sure it would be ready and good once Steve came home.

It was all about feeling useful.

It was all about making himself noticeable.

It was about occupying himself so he would resist the temptation of looking at his reflection in the mirror for hours, wondering whether the face staring back at him was still truly his.

As he came in, Steve immediately remarked on how nice Bucky's cooking smelled. Bucky replied that it was nearly ready and that they could have an early dinner, or that he would just re-heat it if Steve wanted to eat a bit later. Steve hummed in acknowledgement as he took off his jacket and shoes and immediately went to his room to drop off his bag.

Bucky felt tension rise up in his body once more. He forced himself to keep still, both hands on the kitchen counters to anchor him.

He heard Steve's footsteps coming back and forced himself to relax, to smile.

“How was your day?” he asked as Steve walked back into the room, expression blanked by fatigue. Steve looked up. And froze. He furrowed his brows.

“You got a haircut?”

Bucky nodded, running a hand through the short hair. “Yeah. You like it?”

Steve blinked, then nodded. “Yeah, it's... It looks good on you. Wow. I... It's... It's a change, I guess.”

Bucky shrugged. “I felt like changing. New beginning, or whatever. New hair, new me.”

Steve grinned. He smiled, genuinely and naturally, and Bucky felt his insides warm up.

“You now look like a punk who's actually trying instead of like a hobo.”

Bucky punched him in the shoulder with his right hand, laughing. “I don't point out how much like a hipster you look when you're wearing your glasses-”

“Except you just did.”

Bucky glared at Steve, and kept going. “So you do not point out my stereotypical hairstyle choices.”

Steve shrugged. “At least you won't be wearing manbuns anymore.”

Bucky rolled his eyes and went back to stirring his casserole, tasting it to see if it was ready yet.

“Wanna eat now? Or in an hour?”

“I'm not super hungry, to be honest,” Steve said.

“In an hour, then.” He turned off the stove and turned towards his friend. “I repeat my question: How was your day?”

Steve shrugged. “Fine. Tiring. I fucking hate meetings. It just takes so fucking long for people to realise they actually agree with each other. And it's the same every single time. It just gets really boring.”

Bucky nodded. “Yeah. That sounds like it sucks. Want a drink?”

They didn't actually have any alcohol in the apartment, something that Bucky had pointed out several times was not necessary. But every time Steve would just shrug him off and remark that with how much of a lightweight he was it was better for both of them if they kept the apartment a sober zone.

“I'll take a coke if we still have some. Still have work to do tonight.”

So Bucky took out a coke for Steve and a ginger ale for himself, setting them both down at the kitchen table and taking a seat.

It was nice to have Steve actually talk to him again. It felt good, normal. Although the other man apparently couldn't take his eyes off Bucky's hair.

“Stop staring. You're gonna make the rest of it fall off.”

Steve looked away, scratching at his head in embarrassment. “Sorry. Like I said, it's a change. You look more...”

“Like before?” Bucky completed with a half-smile. “Like when I used to actually be bothered enough to take care of myself?”

“Wouldn't have phrased it like that but... Yeah, I guess.”

Bucky shrugged. “It's fine, it's... I thought the same thing, when I was watching it get cut. It's funny how you don't really realise how much you've changed until you find traces of your old self. But well. It's hair. Don't take it too seriously.”

“Yeah. It's hair.” Steve took a sip of his coke, staring once more.

Bucky took a deep breath. He had already braved one challenge today. Could he deal with another one?

_Pull the band-aid quickly._

“Hey. How are you doing, though?” He asked. “I mean, not today. But for the past weeks. You've been... distant, I guess.”

Steve looked liked he had been caught in headlights. He put his glass back on the table. “What?”

“I don't know Steve. You tell me. I've barely been able to talk to you. I thought you would want to come with me to that Grace Petrie concert, but you didn't, and then you barely even asked about it, and it's fine, really it's just... It was surprising. I thought you would be happy, that I'm going out, spending time with other people. But you seemed to barely notice it. I don't know if it's me overreacting, or over-analysing, or whatever. But I thought that... that if there was a chance it wasn't, I ought to talk to you about it.”

“I...” Steve seemed at a loss of what to say, and Bucky looked away. “I'm sorry, Buck, I'm...” He frowned. “I didn't pay attention. I was distracted and I just... You're right. This isn't like me. It's just...” He sighed, staring at his hands in a dejected manner.

“I haven't slept well these past weeks. I'm just... confused. And on edge all the time. It's exhausting, and I guess that's why I kind of cut you out.”

“Confused? About what?”

Steve let out a short self-depricating laugh. “Remember when I kissed Peggy?”

Bucky nodded. Steve was still stuck on that? Of course, it was perfectly expectable from Steve. But still. To the point where it stopped him from sleeping?

“Yeah. And you fought with Sam. But that's over now, right? I mean, you hang out pretty much like usual now. And I know you've seen Peggy as well.”

Steve nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, but no, that's the deal. I'm still hanging out with Sam in the exact same way. We're still flirting with each other, there's all this tension and... And in the meantime I'm also going out with Peggy. And flirting with her. And kissing her.” He took a deep breath. “And I love being with her. It's great. And I love being with Sam. It's awesome. And I'm pretty sure she wants us to have sex, and I've been finding excuses not to stay at her place, but if she asks directly I'm probably gonna say yes, and I feel like I'm leading Sam on, and I feel so dirty.”

“Hey.” Bucky reached for his friend's shoulder across the kitchen table. “Steve. Look at me. It's fine. You're fine.” He thought about Clint, and about his therapist, about support networks. “It's okay to want more than one person, Steve.”

“Yeah. I know. Polyamory. Whatever. I know. But I can't... I can't figure out how to make it work. All I can think if that by getting serious with any of them I might lose the other. And I don't want to lose either of them. I don't want to do that to them.”

“So you think it's better to keep both of them at a distance? How long can you keep doing that? How long before they realise you'll never let them get as close to you as they want and they turn away? You'll lose them both this way too.”

Steve looked up, eyes glistening. “I can't do this.”

Bucky tilted his head slightly, holding gaze with Steve. “Sure you can. You just have to actually try. Not just go with the option that seems easier. Because it's not working, Steve.”

Steve looked away, a defensive expression on his face, as if he was gonna say that he had been doing just fine until then.

“You not sleeping is not a sign of it actually working.” Steve glared at him, mouth opening as if he was on the verge of saying something, but Bucky was faster than him. “Just talk to them. Talk to Sam first. He's the sweetest and probably the most open-minded guy I know. Tell him about Peggy, give him the facts, plain. Wait. No. Actually... You're serious about Peggy, right? Like... You two are kind of dating now?”

Steve looked down. “Yeah. I guess. We haven't... We haven't put a word on it. But yeah.”

“Okay, then scratch what I said. You go to her first. You clarify the situation, make sure a commited relationship is actually what she wants.”

Bucky could feel his mind running, making sense of the situation and untangling it until it was a set of simple actions to go through. It was so easy to think about it all logically, from the outside. So easy. But he knew how tight the knots could feel when you were inside them.

“Ask whether she would be okay with an open relationship, or with polyamory. She'll probably ask you why you want to know. You have the right to ask. To be honest, the world would be a better place if everyone did ask.” Steve managed a smile at that. “Tell her about Sam. See how she reacts. If she says no? Then I guess you have the right to mope at having to choose between either of them. I will support your moping. I will go so far as to provide ice-cream for your moping.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “How generous of you.”

“But if she says yes? If she says yes, you have the chance to go talk to Sam, and try to figure things out with him as well. Like I said, first you have to tell him about Peggy. Then about the fact you might be polyamorous. Make it clear that Peggy knows. Then you tell him you're into him, and you see what happens. He might not be okay with poly. He might reject you for that. But at least you'll both know where you stand, and we'll finally have some relief from this awful tension that's been blazing between you two for ages.

“You make it sound so easy. As if any of those conversations won't literally be the death of me. I'm not good at this. It's a wonder two people are even interested in me at the same time. I can't charm people. I don't have the... charisma, or whatever.”

“You charmed me, once upon a time.” Bucky gave Steve a half-smile, something soft, real.

It was true. Steve _had_ charmed him. He had charmed him with his generosity, his selflessness, his recklessness, his openness. With the way Steve had seemed to be able to touch every part of his soul.

Steve let out a self-depricating laugh. “Yeah. Only took me three goddamn years to finally have you realise I had the hugest crush on you.”

Bucky shrugged. “Maybe. But you did. You thought you couldn't, but you did.” He patted his friend's shoulder one more time, awkwardly balancing his weight so he could lean over the table. “And you don't need to charm either Sam or Peggy. I'm pretty sure you already have them wrapped around your fingers. At least I can vouch for it being the case with Sam. You only need to establish where you stand with both. To be honest.”

Steve sighed once more, droppin his head on his crossed arms. “I fucking hate it when you're the voice of reason.”

“Trust me buddy, I hate it too.”

  


The casserole was good.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry for how long this update took. November meant NaNoWriMo for me, so I wrote a lot but didn't edit anything, and then December and January meant exams at university. I'll do my best to stick to my schedule of one chapter a month from now on, I promise.
> 
> Also, I added some warning to the fic tags because of this chapter. If you want to be sure what they are before reading, I'll also leave them in the end note.

After dinner, that same night Steve had finally admitted to Bucky and himself what was going on, Bucky started texting Clint.

_I'm honestly glad I don't have to deal with a romantic relationship of my own. Dealing with my best friend's love life is enough drama already._

Steve was working at the kitchen table while Bucky was reading a book in the living room, an atmosphere of quiet concentration floating through the flat. His phone pinged, indicating that Clint had texted him back.

_Oh my god again??? what's wrong with them?_

Bucky smiled, replying immediately.

_I probably shouldn't spill his private struggles, but you don't know him so whatevs._

_He's crushing on two people at the same time and freaking out as he discovers how polyamory works._

It was a simple way too put it, probably too simple for Steve's tastes, but in the end, it really was what the situation boiled down too.

_Oh my god D:_

_I cannot deal with the idea of one romantic relationship and the guy wants two of them???_

That was a thought.

_Maybe poly people are compensating for arospec ones because some kind of cosmic balance has to be preserved._

Steve was starting to look at him with a weird expression on his face, probably wondering why his phone kept ringing. Bucky realised it would be distracting him from his work and put it on vibrate.

_Next time somebody asks me why I'm not dating anyone I'll definitely tell them it's because the world would explose if I did while your best friend was dating more than one person. People will totally believe me 100%_

Bucky giggled, earning himself another confused stare from Steve. At least he was too polite to actually ask him what was going on.

_Honestly I'm surprised you don't already have a more stupid explanation._

Clint's reply came a few seconds later:

_I will let you know that the theory that I'm a high-tech android that has developed a conscience is perfectly plausible_

Bucky wanted to make a joke about his prosthetic, about being much closer to an android than Clint, but he wasn't exactly confident that they had reached a place in their friendship where that was appropriate. Clint hadn't commented on his arm, true, but that didn't mean he would be comfortable if Bucky started making fun of it. It was something he had found out quickly enough. People were fine if you complained about your handicap, but once you started acting like it wasn't a bother and instead just a part of you, suddenly they found your behaviour made them uncomfortable.

_How many years does humanity have to live, then?_

He stretched his arms as he settled more comfortably on the couch, book discarded for good. He felt one of his shoulders pop and groaned.

_Problem with my programming. I'm terrible at guessing who's a robot and who's a human and it messes with my plan to take over the earth._

Bucky smiled to himself.

_You probably shouldn't even be telling me all this. I might use it to sabotage your whole operation because I want to protect human beings._

Checking the time on his phone, he realised that it was getting late already, even though Steve showed no sign of wanting to stop working. He wondered if Clint was readying himself to stay up late too. Bucky had no idea what his normal schedule was, but thinking of the first time they had met in the coffeeshop, he would have said that Clint didn't have much interest in sleep at all.

That, or he had trouble falling asleep. Bucky didn't know. It wasn't his place to guess.

_I've still got time to convince you to join the dark side though._

“Okay, I can't hold it in any longer. Who is it that you've been texting non-stop for the last half an hour?”

Bucky looked up at Steve across the doorway to the kitchen.

“Is it disturbing you?”

Steve shrugged. “Not really. Not since you turned the sound off. I'm just curious. You seem to be having fun.”

It was Bucky's turn to shrug. “It's Clint. He's funny.”

Steve raised an eyebrow, in a manner that could be read as suggestive. Bucky rolled his eyes and waved him off.

“Tell me about him,” Steve asked. Bucky heard him shut off his laptop and walk to the living room even as he tried to focus on answering Clint's last text. “You keep mentioning him in passing, telling me when you guys meet up, but I don't actually know anything about him. Tell me something.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow as Steve pushed his legs to make space on the couch so he could sit down.

“Why are you so interested?”

“Don't I have a right to? You're my best friend. I want to know about my best friend's friends.”

“You could have asked anytime in the last few weeks.”

“I know.” Steve looked down slightly. “I realise now that I _have_ been distant these past few weeks. I think... I think I felt uncomfortable, seeing you become more at ease with yourself when I was doing the opposite. It's... It's not a nice thing to admit. I'm not proud of it. I wish I could tell you something else. It's just... For years and years I was the one always coming to you about my problems. So when you came back and needed my help... It felt validating, in a way. Like I had grown enough. I had become a person you could rely on. And now you're getting better and better, whereas I'm falling back to my old habits of needing your help for everything...”

Steve trailed off slightly.

“It's like there's some balance in the universe that has to be kept in check.”

Steve let out a puff of breath that could have been a laugh at Bucky's remark.

“Something like that, yeah.”

“Fuck balance,” Bucky then said. “Since when have you cared about cosmic harmony or whatever? It's all bullshit. It's just an excuse people use to justify the fact that some people are less happy than them. You don't have to fall for that crap. You can be perfectly happy and I can be perfectly happy. None of this karma bullshit. We just gotta try. We can't afford to think that there's a reason for our unhappiness. We just gotta try.”

He looked away. He wasn't a philosopher. He had no idea of what he was saying, except that it kind of felt right, in that one moment. Also, he couldn't bear to look at Steve's face and see what his friend had read into those words.

“I never knew you thought that way.”

Bucky shrugged. He felt Steve place a gentle hand on his knee, commanding his attention. He forced himself to turn around and look at him.

Steve had moved to face him fully, sitting on his knees, while Bucky was still lounging across the couch with his back against the armrest, legs bent at the knees.

“I never... There's no reasoning behind all this crap I'm saying. It's just... I guess at one point it becomes a necessity. If you want to live and be happy, you gotta accept that you have the right to live and to be happy. No matter what. You could just give up. Or you could just go on living because that's what you know how to do. But then your existence won't ever amount to anything else. It will just be existence.”

“I think you might be right.”

“And, like, I mean... You're a bisexual polyamorous trans guy. If you're not someone who can shake cosmic harmony...”

Steve laughed. “Yeah, I guess. Although, you know, some people think it's just part of the whole thing. That you have to go through the ordeal of feeling different because you grow from it.”

“Whatever doesn't kill you makes you stronger, uh?”

“Yeah.”

“I call bullshit on that one too. I lost an arm. Didn't make me stronger. I didn't get superpowers or some cool robotic prosthetic that can punch through walls. And even if I had, that would have been the arm making me stronger. Not the injury. The injury didn't teach me shit.”

Steve was frowning. Bucky actually looked at him for a second. At his short blond hair, his light-blue button-down and the darker blue sweater that covered it. At his black jeans and white socks. At the expression of focused concentration on his face. The black-rimmed glasses he hadn't taken off. At the proximity of both their bodies, at his hand on Bucky's own clothes.

He remembered the desire he'd had for that body, for that contact, for that human being. Not just remembered. It was still there, still alive and well. Just waiting for Bucky to admit it to himself. He could feel this. He could want. He had both the right and the ability to be the subject of desire. He was a person. He was alive. He wasn't a weapon or a soldier or a failure or a shell of his past. He was his present living self, and he wanted.

“I'm not sure I agree with all of that. But I see your point, I think.” Steve looked up.

Both men held each other's gaze for a while. Steve opened his mouth, as if to say something, though no word came out. Without breaking eye contact, Bucky sat up, folding his legs under himself in a mirror image of Steve's posture. The change of position brought both of them much closer, and Steve looked away.

Bucky slowly raised a hand to his friend's cheek. “Hey.” Steve didn't look up, but he didn't flinch away from the touch either, staying perfectly still instead. “Hey, look at me.” Steve finally turned, unwillingly, towards Bucky's face only a few inches away from his. “I'm not gonna break, you know.”

He didn't know if it was those words, or any other thoughts passing through his friend's mind, but Steve finally crossed the distance between them to press his lips against Bucky's.

The gesture was comfortingly familiar. It tasted like soft memories, like the kind of warmth that has never existed but that you remember anyway from watching Christmas movies. It tasted like coming home, in a way. Like coming home should have tasted, without the injury, without the smell of hospitals clinging to Bucky's skin like some kind of cheap perfume.

They both opened their mouths to the embrace as if they'd been waiting to do so for years. Except there was no actual desperation behind the kiss. Just a simple want that made everything seem clearer.

Bucky kept his right hand on Steve's face, the left one barely grazing the other man's hips. Steve moved even closer and circled Bucky's neck with his arms.

He was still smaller than Bucky, still fitted against his body in the same way. Despite that, Bucky could feel differences, in the way some of Steve's muscles had become more defined and in the feel of stuble against his lips as he kissed his chin and cheek.

“What are we doing?” Steve asked,  sounding slightly out of breath already. “Buck, what are we doing?”

Bucky pulled away a little bit. “We can stop. It doesn't mean anything. Or, well, no. It doesn't have to mean anything _more_. It's not as if we'd never kissed before. But we can stop.”

Steve moved one of his hand from Bucky's neck to where he had cut his hair, running his fingers through it. Bucky smiled. Then Steve used his other hand to run through the longer strands, twisting his wrist as he reached the end of them and physically pulling Bucky closer by his hair.

Bucky couldn't help himself and moaned slightly, balancing himself with one hand on the sofa's backrest as they started kissing again. Steve pulled away a few seconds after that, his hand still in Bucky's hair keeping him in place. He grinned.

“I've actually wanted to try that for a while. I'm glad you kept part of your hair long.”

“What can I say, I aim to please.”

Bucky might have been acting tough, but in reality he hadn't been thinking about it at all. This particular usefulness of his long hair wasn't something that would have come to him naturally, though he was not going to complain about it.

Steve smiled. “Okay, but seriously. What are we doing, here?”

He was keeping his hand where it was, so Bucky was fairly confident he wasn't about to walk out on the situation and simply wanted to know where they both stood. He shrugged.

“Whatever we want, I guess. Like I said, it doesn't have to mean anything more that what we've done together in the past. Do you want to make out like we're teenagers again? We can do that. Do you want to have sex? We can do that. Do you want to just cuddle for a while and then go to sleep? We can totally do that.”

Steve stared at him with something adoring in his eyes that made Bucky want to squirm in discomfort. He wasn't used to being on the receiving end of those looks. He used to be the one to look at Steve like his thin fingers held the secret to the universe.

Steve joked about how long it had taken him to tell Bucky he had a crush on him, but if they were both honest, part of that was because Bucky was still uncomfortable with how long _he_ had had a crush on Steve.

He couldn't really explain to himself why he had considered his best friend as off-limits for so long. Both their mothers would have encouraged the relationship while they were still in highschool, without hesitation. But there had always been something in Steve, something that burned too hard and too bright, something that Bucky had felt like he couldn't deal with, or maybe like he couldn't deserve. There had been a thirst for independence in Steve's eyes that Bucky would have felt like he would be taking away.

And then Steve had asked to kiss him for the first time, and Bucky had only been able to look at him in wonder and give the most minute of nods, lost in the determination that filled his blue eyes.

Bucky didn't feel like he was taking away anything this time as Steve pulled slightly on his hair, tilting his head up so that they could kiss again. His eyes were carefully trained on Bucky as he did, and he knew that if he wanted Steve to stop he only had to say so. But he had always known that.

It was something Bucky had found out quite rapidly, that Steve was pretty commanding even in his intimacy. It hadn't really surprised him, not when he was used to his best friend being the kind of person who would argue with a teacher in the middle of class then literally stomp out, or the kind of singer who would scream until his voice literally broke when they used to play music together. Steve did everything intensely, and he liked to follow his own rules, liked to take initiative.

Bucky hadn't minded, back in the day, had been used to this dynamic in every part of their friendship, and easily got used to it in their romantic and sexual life as well.

Keeping a hand in Bucky's hair and his lips strictly focused on his mouth, Steve starting running his other hand over Bucky's neck and shirt, slowly letting it drift lower.

He finally pressed his palm against Bucky's jeans-clad crotch, letting him now what he actually had in mind. Their mouths separated as both of them tried to get their breathing back. Bucky pressed his forehead against his friend's.

Even after a year, the changes in Steve's features compared to before Bucky had left still surprised him.

“You okay?” Steve asked, voice deep, lower than it would been able to go before.

Bucky nodded, arousal settling deep in his gut, and he felt Steve start to move his palm against his slowly-forming erection. “Yeah. I'm feeling pretty good right now.”

Steve grinned at that, and started unbuttoning his pants, but Bucky quickly stilled his hands.

“Let's take this to a bedroom so we can be more comfortable?”

Steve nodded and quickly stood up, walking back through the kitchen in the direction of Bucky's own bedroom. Bucky followed him, relieved to be able to stretch his legs.

When he finally entered the room, Steve had already closed the curtains and switched on the bedside lamp. He had taken off his sweater, which was draped over the back of Bucky's desk chair and was sitting on the bed, pulling off his shoes.

Bucky smiled at the sight. Not because it was particularly seductive – Steve wasn't trying at all – but because it wasn't. That simple fact betrayed enough familiarity to make Bucky's heart ache slightly with it.

It just seemed so easy.

Like it hadn't taken them months of awkwardly circling each other before Steve had taken the habit of walking around shirtless or Bucky had walked out of his bedroom without his prosthetic. Bucky didn't think he could ever forget those weeks of awkwardness, but he was happy to pretend anyway.

Steve, on the other hand, seemed determined to at least try.

“Are you just going to stand over there?” Steve asked.

Bucky grinned, propping himself up against the doorway. “Depends. Are you gonna put on a show?”

Steve kicked his shoes away from the bed and raised an eyebrow. “That what you want?” Bucky shrugged, smiling.

Steve huffed out a laugh, then stood up. “What the hell,” he muttered, barely loudly enough that Bucky could catch it. He started unbuttoning his shirt, not exactly slowly, but not like he was in a rush either. Lifting it off his chest, he extended an arm and let it drop to the floor, facing Bucky.

Bucky looked at him, at his face and at his bare chest. He had gotten used to the flat expense and the faint scars under his nipples, didn't need to focus on them anymore, instead letting his graze lower the trail of hair that started under his belly button and went down under his pants.

Steve stayed still for a moment, chest visibly moving with every deep breath he took. He started unbottoning his pants, letting them drop to the floor. Steve bent over to untangle them from his ankles, and got rid of his socks at the same time.

He and Bucky crossed gaze when he looked up, and Bucky felt a chill run down his spine as the grin his friend sent his way.

Steve didn't bother taking off his underwear, instead climbing on Bucky's bed – which had been made in the morning, settling himself over the covers and against the headboard, a pillow behind his back.

He slipped his hand inside his boxers.

Bucky groaned. “Are you serious?”

Steve shrugged, grinning a mischievous smile. “If you're not gonna get involved, you only get what I give you.”

Bucky shook his head, taking a step into the room. “From what I remember, that's still the rule even when I _do_ get involved.”

Steve closed his eyes, mouth opening as he rubbed his fingers against himself. Despite what he had been saying, Bucky wasn't sure if he wanted to interrupt Steve's little game so soon. It was still a nice enough show.

As Steve continued to jerk himself off, barely paying any attention to Bucky anymore, the latter started undressing himself, taking much more care of his clothes than Steve had. He folded them on his desk, before finally making his way to the bed. The mattress dipped under his weight, and Steve opened his eyes once more.

“Finally. You took your sweet time.”

Bucky moved to straddle his friend's legs, supporting himself with one arm on the side of Steve's face. He bent down and kissed him on the mouth. “I asked for a show, I was damn well gonna enjoy it!”

Steve shook his head, laughing. He raised the hand that wasn't still in his boxers and trailed it down Bucky's chest. “Well, at least you changed into a more appropriate attire.”

Bucky didn't look down at his own chest, focusing on Steve's face instead. He still wasn't fully comfortable with the scars that littered his body.

They kissed for a while longer while Steve traced random patterns on Bucky's chest. He finally pulled his hand out of his own underwear, and Bucky brought his hips down a little, letting his erection rub against Steve.

He let out a moan.

Even though they were both still wearing their underwear, and this kind of dry-humping felt like something they would have done as teenagers, it felt like a lot to Bucky. He hadn't had sex with anyone for nearly two years, and hadn't really had enough of a sex drive to masturbate regularly since he had come back.

Steve adjusted the position of his hips to try and get more friction, huffing in frustration when it wasn't enough. He started pulling off his underwear, pushing Bucky away slightly before the latter helped him get the offending garmen completely off his legs.

“Don't you dare stand up to fold them and put them away,” Steve threatened, “Or I swear I will kick you.”

“Fine,” Buck replied, rolling his eyes and dropping the boxers to the floor. He did the same with his own and crawled back onto the bed.

“Let's switch this up,” Steve said.

Bucky smiled as his friend indicated for him to take his place against the cushion. “I was wondering how much longer you would let me stay in charge. A few more minutes and you would have broken your record.”

“Honestly, I would take your complaints a lot more seriously if you didn't look so damned pleased about it.”

“Oh, but I'm not complaining. I'm just providing running commentary.”

“You're being a bitch, it what you're doing.”

“You can always try to shut me up.”

Steve raised an eyebrow, and Bucky nodded, gesturing to Steve's crotch then to his mouth.

Steve let out a breath. “Yeah, okay. Yeah, can you settle a bit further down? I'm gonna need to grip the headboard for this.”

Bucky did as he was told, and put his hands on Steve's thigh as the other man settled himself above his face. He breathed in the smell of his friend's arousal and felt Steve clench his muscles as he lowered himself slightly, until he was just in reach of Bucky's tongue.

Bucky didn't hesitate, licking along the length of his crotch. Steve jumped a bit at the contact, unwillingly moving out of reach. Bucky pressed against his thigh a little bit, both to support him and to bring him back to his previous position. He went slowly at first, licking carefully and barely dipping his tongue between Steve's folds, tasting how wet he already was. He took his time before actually paying attention to his engorged clit, at first only pressing a light kiss or two, barely enough contact for Steve to feel it.

Steve groaned, voice straining. “Oh my god Bucky, get on with it before I literally fall asleep on your face.”

Bucky smiled, even though Steve couldn't see him, and spread the man's thighs a little more, pressing his tongue flat against the other man's clit, then sucking on it.

Steve moaned, legs shaking a little as he struggled to keep himself completely immobile.

As Bucky continued licking him and sucking him off, he started to make more regular moans, each one going to Bucky's own erection.

“Bucky, Buck- I'm gonna-”

Bucky hummed under Steve, acknowledging the warning. He once again dipped his tongue between Steve's labia, dragging it up to his clit again.

“Fuck.”

Bucky kept his mouth on Steve as his muscles started contracting. He was glad that he had had a solid grip on his friend's thigh as he started shaking, almost losing his balance.

As soon as his orgasm was over and threatening to dip into overstimulation, Steve let himself fall on his side next to Bucky, breaths coming out fast.

Bucky turned on his left side to face him, grinning when Steve immediately went in for a kiss, trying to taste himself on Bucky's tongue.

Even an orgasm was apparently not enough to make him lose his focus, as he took Bucky's erection in hand, swallowing his moan before it had a chance to be heard.

He pulled away after a few seconds, though, looking down at his own hand on Bucky's cock and frowning.

“You got any lube?”

Bucky laughed, pressing his face into Steve's shoulder in a poor attempt to muffle it. He just couldn't handle Steve's serious expression as he had said that.

Steve was watching him with a vaguely worried expression when he looked up, which threatened to send him into another fit of laughter. Bucky shook his head. “Nah. Haven't bothered to buy any since I've been back.”

Steve groaned.

“You're useless, you know that?”

Bucky shrugged. “I hadn't really expected tonight's events, sorry.”

“I am not letting you fuck me without condoms and lube. And dry handjobs are just _urgh_. So I guess I just won't be very imaginative. You haven't caught anything, right?”

Bucky thought about making some kind of smart-ass comment, but then he thought about being the kind of guy who makes smartass comments when partners ask them if they have STD's, and thought better of it.

“Had to get tested when I was in the hospital. Came out clean. Haven't had sex since.”

“Awesome.” Steve kissed him again. He raised a hand to the side of Bucky's head, running it through his short hair and reaching for the longer strands. Bucky thrust his hips forward, not really caring about what Steve had said about dry handjobs. Sure, it wasn't the most comfortable thing, but Bucky could make do.

But, of course, when Steve had something on his mind he wouldn't be detered from it, and the bastard actually pulled his hand away, using his grip on Bucky's hair to pull his face away at the same time.

Bucky let out a whine, which he might have been ashamed of if he couldn't see how much it got to Steve, the other man going as far as to shiver as he heard it.

Steve bit his lower lip, took a breath, and pushed at Bucky's chest. There was no real force behind it, but Bucky let himself fall back on his back anyway. Steve straddled him once more, kissing him one last time.

“Behave,” he told Bucky as he pulled away. Bucky bent his legs at the knee and spread them open as Steve kneeled in front of him.

There was arousal in his eyes, a familiar glint, as well as a sharpness to his smile. Bucky felt a shiver run through his body and had to close his own eyelids. It wasn't a good kind of shiver.

He drew a breath and held it, trying to calm himself down, trying not to freeze, not to freak out.

He had no idea what he was doing. Presenting himself like this, naked, on display, as an object of desire. He knew it wasn't right, but he could feel himself going back to his old resentment of his body. A broken thing. Something that had failed. Not an extension of himself, but a visible proof of his shortcomings, a punishment of some sort.

He felt a hand touch his knee and clenched his jaw not to let out a sound.

“Bucky. Hey. Bucky. Open your eyes.”

Steve's hands were on both his shins, forcing him to close his legs.

Bucky tried to open his eyes, but couldn't. He didn't want to. He didn't want to see himself, or Steve's disappointment, or anything. He was fine, in the dark of his own eyelids. Everything was fine here.

“Buck. Hey.”

The mattress shifted, probably because Steve was climbing off. “Hey.”

A hand on his face now, and Bucky pulled away. Eyes still closed, he sat up and brought his knees close to his chest, putting his arms around them.

“Bucky. I need you to talk to me. Tell me what I need to do. Do you want me to leave, or to stay? I won't touch you if you don't want me to. I won't do anything that you don't want me to do. But I need you to tell me what you need.”

Bucky could feel himself shaking. His eyelids fluttered open for a second, then closed again.

“Stay,” he managed to mutter, cheek pressed against his knees. “Dress.”

He heard Steve do as he was told. He tried to focus on his  breathing as well as on the sound of shifting fabric.

He had gone over this. He should have been over this. He knew his body.

He had gotten used to touching again, to being touched. He had learned to stop thinking of himself as an object. He knew he was a human being. He didn't have to love his body. He could appreciate it. He could appreciate what it did for him. Or... Maybe that was a wrong way to go about it. Maybe that was too close to body as object, to body as weapon, to himself as killer.

He didn't have to love his body. He just had to _live_ it. Stop separating himself from it.

Bucky was loved. He knew that. His friends had told him again and again, more than anyone. And if Steve looked at his body, it was just one more way he had of loving Bucky. He could let himself be loved. He owed it to Steve, to his family, to his friends.

He could do this.

He started slowing his breathing down. He heard Steve sit down on the bed next to him, breathing slowly as well. Steve didn't touch him. Bucky was grateful. He didn't want to lash out, didn't want to hurt Steve. He wanted him beside him. He desperately wanted that. But he wasn't sure if it was something he could have, something he could let himself have.

He finally raised his head again, once more able to take calm breaths.

Steve was looking at him, having fully dressed except for his shoes. He had a soft smile on his lips.

Bucky stopped himself from flinching away again. He knew Steve. And Steve knew him. There was no pity between them. Just a desire to understand and _be there_.

He kept breathing.

He extended his hand towards Steve, motioning for him to come closer. Steve complied, moving up on the bed until he was nestled against Bucky's right side, Bucky's arm around him.

Bucky exhaled. He remembered this. Remembered sitting in his old bedroom, the one that had been covered in posters, the one with the curtains always closed. He would sit on his bed and read, while Steve would lie against him, writing or drawing, sometimes doing his homework.

He didn't have to look at Steve when he was like this. And with a warm body against his, he didn't feel cold. This meant he didn't have to move to pick up his clothes.

“I'm sorry,” he started saying.

Steve immediately moved away slightly, huffing in frustration. “No. We've been over this. You don't get to say sorry for things like this.”

Bucky shaked his head. “No. I have to. I'm sorry, so I have to say it.”

“Well then I'm sorry too,” Steve replied. “I don't know what we were doing and... I should have known it would push a limit for you. It was predictible. But I didn't care. I wanted to, so I didn't care...”

Bucky shook his head again.

“Don't say that. Don't you dare fucking say that. I made my own goddamn decision. And you shouldn't have to know my own limits better than I do. That's not how it works.”

“Yeah, well...”

Steve settled back against Bucky's shoulder with a sigh. They stayed like that for a while, in silence.

Bucky felt exhausted, like his limbs were heavy and far away. Finally, he shimmied out of the bed. He didn't say anything as Steve stood up to help him put his clothes back on.

He allowed his mind to wander to Clint. He thought about kissing him, about boundaries. About the way the blond had said _“why not, I'd be into it”_ like he was talking about going on another coffee date, nothing else.

What if he lashed out? It hadn't happened in a long time, but it had taken him a year and three months to get to this point. He couldn't be certain it wouldn't happen again once the parameters changed. This wasn't Steve. It was Clint. Someone brand new. Someone different. Someone who could be hurt.

“Come on, let's get settled in the living-room,” Steve said. “I'll order some pizza.”

Bucky nodded, and followed Steve out of the bedroom, settling down on the couch. He sat cross-legged, putting his feet under himself.

He breathed.

Steve placed his call, then crouched down in front of the television. He picked up a DVD case. “Wanna watch Pride?”

Bucky smiled tiredly. It was Steve's feel-good movie. He probably wouldn't be able to say how many times he had watched it, and Bucky had to admit it was the same for him. He wasn't as attached to it as Steve was, maybe, but just watching the way the film affected his friend was enough to make Bucky feel better. Steve said he felt energized by it. It wasn't the happiest of movies. The ending was quite bittersweet, but it made Steve want to move, made him feel like he was actually able to have an impact on things.

“Yeah,” Bucky replied, even though Steve had already opened the box and was putting the disk in their DVD player.

Steve sat down next to him, leaving a little distance between them, just enough that they weren't touching, but still close enough to feel the other's presence.

The movie started.

And this, just as the way they had cuddles on his bed, or the way he had kissed Steve, or the way he had felt his body tremble under his touch, this all felt like home.

A rickety home, a patched-up home, one that creaked under his feet. But a home worth investing in, not despite its flaws but for the story they told.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT WARNING FOR: sexual content, panic attack


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woohoo! Getting back into the habit of posting once a month! Look at me go!
> 
> This chapter has some discussion of traumatic injuries. I'm very bad at doing research, especially about injuries or medical conditions (it squicks me out really easily), so I apologize if anything is poorly thought out. I would be grateful for anyone willing to help me learn.

“One thing I can't figure out, though.”

Steve hummed curiously, around a mouthful of cereals.

“What part of us having sex was supposed to make you feel better about your multiple crushes and consequent identity crisis?”

Bucky smirked above his mug of coffee as he watched Steve almost choke on his breakfast.

“Oh god,” Steve said, wiping at his mouth. “Of course that's the way you would choose to bring this up.”

Bucky shrugged, his smile a perfect imitation of innocence.

“You are not a kind person, Bucky Barnes. Kind people do not bring up their friends' bullshit. They let them deal with it in silence.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “You do not mean a word of what you just said and we both know it, _Steve Rogers_.” He put more emphasis on his flatmate's name, ironically mirroring Steve's tone.

“Urgh. This is the worst.” He ate more of his cereals. Bucky drank some coffee.

He was glad he had been able to sleep on what had happened the night before and collect his thoughts. Him freaking out while trying to have sex with his best friend had obviously been a terrible experience. Panic attacks always were, if he was being honest. But he knew that, although he had taken care of Bucky as if it wasn't the case, Steve had had to have been shaken by it as well. And even if Bucky didn't really want to talk about his own side of last night's events in more details, he could still show Steve that he was there for him. That he cared.

“To answer your question, us having sex does not bring anything new to the identity crisis. The identity crisis is over. Steve Rogers turns out to be poly as fuck, end of story.”

“That simple, uh.”

“Yeah. Except no. Because obviously that doesn't mean that either Sam or Peggy will date me.”

Bucky rolled his eyes as hard as he could, not quite believing that his friend was being serious. Sam had clearly been into him for months now. And Steve had himself admitted that he was pretty much dating Peggy already. They had talked about this.

Steve punched his right shoulder.

“Shut up. I know what you think but, like... It's not that simple. Even if they're into me... like, I don't want to date one of them if it means it's gonna my friendship with the other. I don't think I want that. But at the same time right now it's kind of awkward for them both. And Peggy... Peggy doesn't really know, about Sam. Or about you. About... I don't know. It's complicated.”

They fell silent, each going back to their breakfast.

“I know you,” Bucky finally said. “And when you've got something on your mind, you chase it. You don't let things go. You're _Steve Rogers_. You can't not do anything.” Bucky swallowed up his bitterness at the thought of how he compared to that. “So talk to them. Try it out. Sam's a great guy, he won't just cut you out of his life for something like this. Not if you go to him in an open and earnest way.”

Bucky was pretty sure that Sam would prefer earnestness over anything else. He was also quite certain that the man _was_ capable of shutting Steve out of his life completely if he felt like the blond had betrayed him in a way he deemed unacceptable. But well. Risk-taking was something Steve knew well. And, somehow, Bucky thought this wouldn't cross Sam's line for unacceptable.

“Peggy... Well, I don't know her. I can't say. But I trust your tastes so ... you should go for it.”

“Yeah... Maybe.”

“Yesterday's better than in a year.” Bucky specified, earning himself an eye-roll. “I know it's kind of hypocritical of me to call you out on not dealing with your shit but...”

“Eat your damn breakfast, Barnes.”

Bucky smiled. Steve would be okay.

 

So Bucky clearly needed to find a hobby. Or start school again. Or something. After more than a year, he couldn't stand spending his time in a flat doing nothing anymore. Watching Steve leave for his part-time job in the morning and then walking in circles in the apartment trying to think of something to do was becoming far too boring. Bucky still believed in the possibility that he would be cleared for work again at some point. His physical therapy was going very well. But still. It would take time, and he was slowly driving himself insane in a very immediate way.

On a hunch, he sent a text to Clint.

_Gotta get out of the house. Wanna meet for coffee?_

He dropped his phone right after having sent the text. He apparently was far from over this habit of second-guessing himself whenever things concerned Clint. It was a miracle that the other man hadn't noticed anything yet.

His phone dinged:

_I got your back bro :D_

Bucky smiled, and stopped himself from typing a reply when he noticed the three little dots indicating Clint was typing as well.

_Falcon again?_

_Do you have money this time or are you still trading favors for caffeine?_

The question was meant as a joke, though Bucky couldn't help but wonder how Clint's life actually worked. He knew so little about it, and genuinely had no idea why Clint kept so many things about himself secret anyway. Secret might be the wrong word. He had never asked after all. And he himself hadn't told the other man a lot of things, things he didn't exactly consider secrets either, but that he didn't feel comfortable sharing openly right now.

And, _hell_ , they hadn't known each other that long. Of course they didn't know everything about the other.

It was frustrating. Bucky was constantly torn between keeping his boundaries firmly in place and affording Clint the same ones, and wanting to push their relationship to see how far it would go. He felt the man like an itch under his skin.

He stopped his train of thoughts there, not wanting to think about anything else related to skin, in case he once again went down the road of the failed attempt at sex he had shared with Steve.

He read the last of Clint's texts.

_I call it alternative economy and I won't let you judge my life-choices._

Bucky let himself smile. He was always impressed by the man's easy repartee. It was something he had mastered once, something he still tried to keep up in front of his friends, but which felt less natural in his mouth than it used to.

_I'll meet you in fourty minutes, you anarchist_

“ _Don't act like you don't like it, punk,”_ was Clint's immediate response. Bucky felt his heart tighten a little, but quickly slid his phone into his pocket.

 

Clint was sitting at the same table as the first time when Bucky walked in. The blond immediately beamed at him, waving.

“You look cheerful,” Bucky pointed out. He could already feel some of Clint's good mood seep in through his own layers of boredom and nerves.

“No reason not to be, so I'm going with it,” Clint replied. “Should we go order something while there's not queue?”

Bucky agreed, dropped his leather jacket on the chair, and they both walked to the counter. Clint ordred a mocha and Bucky a latte. They echoed each other's hums of contentment as they settled back in their chairs with the warms drinks in their hands.

“So, how have you been doing?” Clint asked after taking a cautious sip of his drink.

“I almost had sex with my best friend,” Bucky responded. He didn't give his filter any time to react, just blurted the words out and waited for what would happen next.

Clint took things with a surprising amount of grace. He put his mug back down on the table, carefully closed his mouth, frowned a bit and tilted his head. Then opened his mouth again.

“Ooookay, I guess?”

Bucky felt heat rise to his cheeks. What had he just done? What was he doing? What had his life come to? Why was running away not appropriate? Why didn't he actually want to run away?

“I don't really know how I'm supposed to react because I'm probably missing a lot of parameters here.” He started tapping his fingers against his mug. “I guess congratulations wouldn't really work?”

Bucky wanted to disappear. He forced his features to become blank. This had been a mistake. Any direction that the conversation could take from here was a minefield. Why had he felt the need to say it in the first place? Because it bothered him? It shouldn't. Steve had told him it shouldn't.

“Sorry. I have no idea why I told you that. Just ignore it.” His voice was cold, emotionless. Bucky recognized it from when he'd had to learn how to talk again.

Clint reached over the table, putting his hand on Bucky's left one. He pulled away, and Clint immediately did the same, retreating out of his personal space and putting both hands on the table.

“Sorry. I'm sorry. We don't have to talk about it if you don't want to. But like... we _can_ talk about it. I won't judge.”

Bucky wanted to run a hand through his hair, hide his face, wrap his arms around himself, stiff and close. He kept silent.

Clint's eyes stayed on him, but he took a gulp of his coffee.

Why wasn't he talking? Or leaving? Why was he still here, and so calm about everything?

Bucky wasn't feeling calm. He was completely still, but his body had always been the eye of the hurricane.

He counted his breaths. Tried to feel his chest expand with each one. He could picture his therapist talking, telling him to find his own boundaries then make them clear to others. He could already think of the type of questions she might ask if she were there with him right now. He could even picture the answers he would give.

He kept still.

“Bucky, hey. I just want to know if I should leave or not. You can just nod if you want me to leave.”

Bucky felt frustration rise up in him on top of everything else. This was much too similar to what had happened with Steve. Once again, he didn't want to be left alone, though he deserved nothing other than that.

“Stay,” he croaked out, forcing his body to relax all at once. He put both elbows on the table and his head in his hands, staring at his latte that was getting cold. He felt cold as well. His body started shaking slowly, from that or from the sudden relief of tension.

And Clint stayed. He sipped at his coffee in an almost languid way while Bucky took the time to gather himself and the courage to look his friend in the eye again.

It wasn't until he had taken a sip of his lukewarm coffee himself that Clint spoke again.

“I'm guessing this wasn't how you had planned for this morning to go, so I'm giving you options.”

Bucky looked up. He didn't feel like choosing. He didn't feel like wanting anything at all. He wished he could just sit here in silence for some more time. Still, at the back of his head he was aware that Clint was acting the right way, trying to respect and actively assert Bucky's agency at the same time.

“I can just ignore what happened and start babbling about something until you feel like responding or get bored of me and leave. Or we can leave, go to my place or yours and talk there. No pressure. Just talking and figuring shit out.”

Choose. Choose. Choose. He didn't know what to choose. Bucky didn't know what he wanted. He didn't know what he needed. He didn't know what his boundaries were, which was why he was seeing a therapist in the first place, wasn't it?

That, and the fact that he had to. The fact he was vaguely aware it was what he was supposed to do. The fact that something told him that pretending to be fine wasn't going to be enough in the long run. The fact he kept feeling like he owed it to his family to at least try and get better.

“Okay, so, I figure, we don't really know each other right now. We've met recently, so that's normal. But I guess I can tell you a few things, like, about me and stuff. So you know I live alone. You've been to my apartment. It's just me and my dog.”

Bucky was confused. Clint's words washed over him. He felt like drowning. Like letting go and drifting away in the current, uncaring of the consequences.

“He's a mutt I rescued from a car crash. Long story. My neighbourhood has some dodgy people in it, but the ones in my building are good guys and gals. Oh, yeah, I kind of own the building. Long story as well. I'm not really rich though. Just so you know.”

The words came and went like waves, and Bucky surrendered a few pieces of his anxiety to each one. He realised he could actually focus on the words after a while, understand what Clint was saying and what he meant.

“But yeah. It's me and Lucky and probably a few too many take-out boxes. I'm not a great cook. I mean, I _can_ cook, but I just never take the time to, it's not really my thing. Sometimes Kate crashes at my place. If she was a decent person, she would stay on the couch, but usually she steals my bed. I usually fall asleep in front of the TV anyway so it's no big deal, but like. It's the principle of the thing, you know?”

Bucky actually felt like smiling a little now. He downed the last few gulps of his latte.

“Kate is probably my best friend. Kind of. Don't let her know I said that though. It would get to her head. We work together on one of my projects, it's actually how I know her. She's pretty cool. Doesn't take shit from anybody, which is nice. Oh, and she actually _is_ pretty rich. So sometimes she'll pity-buy me pizza in exchange for squatting my place.”

Bucky looked up.

“Which is the least she could do with all that money. I'm kind of jealous sometimes. Although I guess she doesn't own a building, so I have that to be proud of.”

“You're weird,” Bucky managed to croak out around a forced half-smile.

Clint grinned at him like he had just promised to take him to Disneyland for Christmas.

“Hey. Are you feeling a bit better?”

Bucky nodded, still feeling on edge and a bit embarrassed by his behaviour. He couldn't even blame external circumstances for throwing him into this panic. It was all his own fault.

“Kind of.”

It was Clint's turn to nod. “My offer to talk some more still stands, if you want to take it. Or I can just leave you alone for now.”

Bucky tried to think about it now that he was a bit more clear-headed. He felt like he owed Clint some kind of exlanation, but also like he really didn't want to explain himself. Because he didn't want the man to be scared away, or misunderstand the whole situation and start feeling guilty about it somehow.

He wasn't sure if he was ready to go to Clint's place in this state. The flat was enough of an unfamiliar environment that it felt unsafe for now. At the same time, his appartment was also Steve's, and even if he wasn't there right now, everything there reminded Bucky of him. Which meant it might not be the best place for Bucky to discuss his relationship with Steve.

“I... I'd like to go to your place.” He tapped the fingers of his right hand against his empty mug. “If that's okay with you.”

“Yeah. That's cool. That's great. Should we go now?”

Bucky nodded and stood up, wincing at the sound of his chair sliding against the floor.

He put his jacket back on, and didn't look anybody in the eye as he exited the coffeeshop. He waited for Clint outside, falling into step behind him as they walked towards the nearest metro entrance. They didn't talk, and Bucky couldn't help but feel out of place as he forced himself not to fidget. Better not draw any attention to himself. Try to blend in as much as he could.

Clint seemed much more relaxed, though that might also be a front he was putting up to make Bucky feel better. He was thankful anyway.

“We're stepping down at the next stop,” Clint told him at some point, and Bucky nodded, following the man as they stepped out and started walking again.

They stopped in front of a grey appartment building, the kind of building that looked similar to every building around it and that you could only recognise out of habit. Clint pulled out some keys from his pockets and opened the door. He stopped in front of the staircase. “Are you okay with the stairs?”

Clint's apartment was on the fifth floor, and the elevator was a rickety old thing that couldn't be trusted.

“Stairs are fine.”

“Great.” Clint took the lead again, and they climbed in silence through the dark staircase. The blond then took out his keys again and opened the door to his appartment, gesturing for Bucky to walk inside.

“You can hang your jacket hear if you want. And feel free to keep your shoes, I forgot to clean up anyway.”

Bucky did as he was told, taking off his jacket before following the other man into the living-room. There was a television on one wall, with an archery bow hung above it. Right in front was a big couch and a coffee table, and behind that was the half-wall delimiting the kitchen area.

“Take a seat,” Clint said, gesturing to the couch as he picked up two dirty take-out boxes on the coffee table. “Do you want something to drink?”

“I'm fine,” Bucky replied, sitting down and fidgeting with the wrist joint of his prosthesis.

Clint joined him on the sofa, leaving plenty of space between them. Remembering how they had kissed each other only four days ago , Bucky felt a weird sort of ache. They should have sat close to each other. Bucky should have been able to put an arm around his shoulder, pull him even closer.

“Okay,” Clint started, pointedly not looking at the way Bucky was fidgeting. “So you nearly had sex with your best friend.”

Bucky froze.

“I don't mind at all, if that's part of the problem. I mean, we talked about the eventuality of fucking, but we didn't clearly mention exclusivity or whatever. So in case you weren't sure, I really don't mind.”

“It's not...” Bucky tried to find the words, but words had never been his thing. “It's not that. I don't...”

Clint tilted his head slightly, encouraging. He looked so open, ready to receive anything that Bucky woud send his way, ready to accept everything. But Bucky wasn't sure he could put all of it on Clint's shoulders. More selfishly, he wasn't sure he could bring himself to put all of it into words.

“It wasn't about you,” he finally ended up saying, looking away from the other man. He wanted to hide, wanted to go back to his state of cool distance. He felt weak, like this. Vulnerable. Exposed, when the enemy was always ready to strike.

“Okay,” Clint replied. He added nothing else, and the silence grew between them.

Why had Bucky asked to come back here in the first place? Why hadn't he just run away? It would certainly have been much easier. So he wanted to talk. He wanted to tell Clint about it, even though it seemed too personal to share with someone he had met so recently. But maybe it was also because he had met him so recently, because he felt like there was no expectation he had to fulfill with Clint.

“I lost my arm in Afghanistan. Bucky ended up saying, raising his prosthesis towards Clint, palm upwards, so he could easily see all the way it differed from a natural arm.

Clint didn't say anything. He looked down at the silicone hand, _looked_ carefully, then raised his eyes back up to face Bucky.

He took a deep breath. “That was a year and a half ago, more or less. Got amputated right under the shoulder.”

He could remember the pain. Could remember falling, something falling on top of him, the searing pain. And then the waiting. The cold as night set it, as the fever rose, as he waited and waited.

“I couldn't bear to look at the stump, at first. I insisted on getting a prosthesis as early as possible. I couldn't look at it and I couldn't do anything with it and it made me sick.”

He claused his eyes. His body was his body. His history. A testimony of what he had been through, maybe. Of what he had survived. A means to and end, a way to move forward in his life. Just a body, imperfect in its own ways, never anything more than a body.

“I guess I'm still not over all of it.”

Bucky let the silence fall again. Did any of this make sense? They had been talking about Steve, about sex, not about... this. Would Clint understand? He looked up at the blond, who was still watching him, turned awkwardly on his couch. Clint smiled. Not really a smile, more of a slight upwards tilt of his lower lip.

Bucky breathed.

“I lost most of my hearing when I was eight,” Clint said. He gestured towards his right ear, pointing at his hearing aid. “Car accident. My parents died, I lost my ears. My brother was the only one who completely healed from his injuries. At least physically. I guess. I had had hearing problems from childhood, but it made everything worse. I act all tough now, but some days it wasn't that easy. I'm not telling you this to say I understand. I'm not telling you this to make you think your situation isn't _that bad_.” Clint cringed even as he said it. “But you shared something personal with me, so I wanted to do the same. And I did want to tell you that...That I won't judge you if things get hard. Because I know it does get hard.”

“I thought I had become okay with myself,” Bucky said. “I thought I was over it.”

Clint shrugged. “It's not a race. I... Obviously I don't know what you've gone through, and how much of it is still with you. But getting better is never a race. And it's never over. You're always getting better, you're never over it. I think.”

Bucky closed his eyes. He leaned back on the couch. He would have raised his hands to his face if he didn't think it would be much too obvious.

“Then how am I supposed to have a normal life?”

“Can I touch you?” Clint asked, and Bucky frowned. He opened his eyes and looked at the other man, who only raised an eyebrow, underlining his question.

Bucky nodded.

Clint moved slowly, putting a hand on Bucky's thigh. “There's nothing like a normal life. Everybody is deviant in some way, blaming themselves for their lack of normality for one reason or another. Some of those reasons are big. Some are smaller. But nobody is ever perfect at pretending to be normal.”

Bucky wanted to laugh at the argument. It was a lot too easy, said like this. It had nothing to do with the reality you felt every day, the stares people threw at you, the whispers behind your back.

“Feels like a load of crap,” he said, surprising himself with his own bluntness.

Clint laughed in reaction, removing his hand from Bucky's pants. “Maybe. I can understand where you're coming from.” He smiled, easily, naturally, and Bucky couldn't help but smile back in his own small, self-conscious way.

Then Clint brought his face back to a more neutral expression. “But seriously. I don't want you to feel pressured in any way, okay? We talked about it before, but we both have our boundaries. And those can change, or they can come up unexpectedly, and that's fine. Please don't ever feel scared to tell me if something is bothering you.”

Bucky nodded, feeling like something was stuck in his throat. He had the uncomfortable sensation of being like a child, taken care of by someone else, constantly being explained how the world actually worked. Clint was older than him, but not that much. And, anyway, Bucky had felt the same way before, with Steve, when he had first come back from the war. He felt confused, yes. And the guidance was reassuring in a way. But he was never entirely convinced that he could trust what these others were telling him. He was too aware of his own perception of things, of how he had had to build a life for himself despite what everyone said about it. It had started with his mom's only half-convinced objections to his tastes in music and aesthetics. It had ended with Steve's firm opposition to him signing up with the army, and to his sister's accusations that he was just using it as an excuse to abandon his best friend.

He had learned to stand by his choices, even when the results had been far from what he had expected. At least they had been his choices. At least he had had no one to blame but himself. At least he was well aware of the reasons behind every of his action.

And now, here, someone else was trying to tell him how the world work, being extremely nice about it, extremely considerate, probably not realising that he was doing it at all. And Bucky didn't know what to do. On the one hand, he loved the fact that Clint was trying so hard to be accepting, was trying so hard to make him feel safe. On the other, he partly resented the fact that his friend would assume he needed his help in the first place. It was kind of hypocritical, considering that he himself had thought of Clint as of a possible anchor. But Bucky wasn't above hypocrisy. He had never claimed to be that good a person.

“I'm not gonna tell you everything about me,” Bucky said matter-of-factly. He watched Clint's face as he let the words escape, waiting for a reaction.

Clint didn't flinch away.

“You... You're nice. You're being so nice about all of it, and it's great and I'm so thankful. But you can't ask me to tell you everything. Because I won't.”

Clint nodded. “That's okay.” Bucky looked away. “I don't need to know everything about your past. Or even about your present, I guess. As long I get something to work with. Enough to know who you are as a person, now, with me. Just the you of here and now. Just what you can give me.”

Bucky felt a tear fall down his cheek at that. He wiped it away as quickly as he could. Rubbed at his face until the pressure against his eyes had diminished.

Then he finally looked at Clint.

The other man slowly lifted a hand and pressed it against the shaved side of Bucky's head. He rubbed against it and smiled. “I like it.”

Bucky started crying again at the gesture, a full-on sob this time that tore through his body. Clint pulled his hand away, but Bucky stopped him, putting it back in his hair and holding it there.

He didn't try to speak. Knew it would probably be incomprehensible if he did. He just waited it out and focused on the contact between him and Clint, the sensation of his fingers in his hair as he carefully rubbed it. He let all of his emotions flow out, not trying to make any sense of it or even to name what he was letting go of. He just sobbed and waited until he didn't anymore.

He slowly moved Clint's hand away, but kept hold of his wrist as it lay between them.

“I'm sorry,” he finally said after his tears has calmed down.

Clint closed his fingers around his. “I'm sorry too.”

Bucky wanted to protest. To assure him that he shouldn't. But he could feel that that wasn't the point of the moment. “Yeah. Okay.”

They stayed like that for a while. Close. In silence. Bucky slowly calmed down.

“I'm gonna go,” he finally said.

“Yeah. Okay.”

Bucky stood up. Clint stayed where he was, looking up to meet his eyes. He looked sad, but smiled anyway. His eyes were filled with waiting and vulnerability, and Bucky stepped closer.

He slowly extended a hand towards Clin't face, who leaned into the touch.

“Can I...? I just want to...”

Clint nodded.

Bucky bent down, using his left arm to support himself against the back of the couch, and timidly pressed his lips to Clint's.

He closed his eyes, and focused on the feeling. He had to be present in this. Not as a body, but as a person. He opened his mouth against Clint's, felt the other man respond and thought “Yes.”

He could want this.


	9. Chapter 9

Bucky was halfway out the door of he and Steve's flat, jacket on and scarf in hand, when his phone rang. He picked up and frowned when he saw Sam's name displayed on his screen. Hadn't Steve said they were going to have brunch together?

Bucky checked the time. It was only 12:30. This was weird.

“Hello?” He said, picking up. He was still hovering in the hallway, not sure whether it would be better to walk on out or stay inside.

“Hey, Bucky?”

He shifted his weight on his feet, still undecided. “Yeah. How are you, man? I thought you were supposed to be with Steve?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I was. He...”

Bucky stopped, feeling worry rise. “Did something happen?”

Sam seemed to immediately realise what Bucky meant. “No. Nothing bad happened to him. We're both fine. Just...”

Bucky heard Sam take a deep breath. He decided it would be better if he went out like he had wanted to, to try and keep his head clear.

“He talked to you about it, right?” Sam went on. “About this girl Peggy, and him, and... well, and me.”

Bucky closed the door behind him. So Steve had had _that_ conversation. Okay. That was good. That was great.

“Yeah. He did.”

Sam stayed silent for a moment on the other side of the line. Bucky could guess he was trying to figure out what to say next.

“And... he's serious?” There was a beat. “I mean, no, I know he didn't say it as a joke or something, even he doesn't have _that_ shitty a humor, but... Did he... Did he really think about it? It's not just... I don't know... It's...”

“Whatever you're thinking, it's not that. Steve did think about it. I promise. He wouldn't just... He spent a month thinking about it, Sam. If he's telling you now, it means that he's serious.”

“Okay. Okay, that's... nice.”

“Are you okay? Where are you right now?”

If Steve had confessed his feelings and Sam wasn't with him right now, it meant that they had left each other at some point. And from the time, it was too early for them to have finished their brunch and parted ways normally. Something must have happened.

“I'm fine. I'm at my place. I... I kind of ditched Steve, I guess. I was confused. I told him I needed to think about it. I mean...” He let out a short, slightly hysterical laugh. “First he told me he likes me. To be honest, I had kind of given up on that ever happening, with the way we've been dancing around each other for months. And then... then he tells me he's dating this girl I've never heard of. But that he's serious about liking me. And that he thought he could make it work to... to date both of us? I guess that's what he said?”

“A polyamorous relationship. That's what it's called,” Bucky replied, trying to keep his tone calm and reassuring. “Steve did his research. He wouldn't have approached you if he didn't think he could make it work.” He sighed, kept walking. The fresh air helped a little. “He was... He was miserable with it, for a while. I'm not saying that to make you feel bad. Not at all. He brought it upon himself but... He was confused. I don't know much about Peggy either, but apparently they've known each other for a while, and they met up again and started being closer.”

“I don't-” Sam interrupted.

“But he was already pining for you at the time,” Bucky continued as if he hadn't been interrupted. “And he couldn't figure out if that meant he didn't really like Peggy, or didn't like you anymore. He felt like it would be as if he'd been leading you on if he started dating her, but apparently their relationship took that turn naturally and... I'm not telling you what you should do, Sam. And I'm not just defending my best friend. But he really thinks that this would be the best solution to all involved.”

“I... Does... Does Peggy know?”

Bucky smiled. He had expected Sam to ask the question. “I told Steve to ask if she would be okay with it before he approached you. He didn't tell me he did it, but I trust him, so... I think she knows.”

“Okay. That's... good. I guess.”

“You should ask Steve, though. Think about it alone if you need to, but if you have questions... Steve will answer them. He's trying. You can text him if you prefer.”

“That... That sounds good. Yeah. Thanks, I... I don't know...” Sam apparently faltered. It was strange, hearing him like this. Vulnerable and confused while Bucky was the one holding it together and speaking as the voice of reason. “I needed to talk to someone.”

“It's fine. If you need... I don't really understand what Steve thinks, or how you'll make it work if you try to make it work. I'm actually pretty confused by all this, and you know that I... I can't promise to...”

Bucky sighed, then took a deep breath. He had talked to his therapist about this. He just had to say it aloud. Leave it in the open.

“I can't promise to always be there, but if you need to talk to someone, I can try.”

“Thanks, Bucky. Thanks a lot. I'll... It means a lot. I'll pay you back somehow.”

“You don't have to. But... I mean, whatever happens... Steve was right about one thing. You're a cool person. I... I like hanging out with you. So, whatever happens, don't be a stranger. Please.”

“No, I...” Sam let out a short laugh. “I guess those kind of things do happen. But I don't want to burn bridges. Not with you, not with Steve. You're my friends.”

“Okay. That's great, Sam. Take your time to think about it all. I'll handle Steve.”

“Thanks, man. If he's... Tell me if he's okay, please?

“Sure. And... Sam?”

“Yeah?”

Bucky collected his thoughts before speaking. “Don't... Don't feel pressured to do something you don't want just to get something you think you want. Think about it seriously too. That's what Steve wants as well.”

There was a pause on Sam's end. “Okay. I guess I'll talk to you soon, then.”

“Yeah. Talk to you soon.”

He let Sam hang up and put his phone back into his pocket.

He had kept walking throughout all of their conversation, and had passed the supermarket on his way. He walked back, lost in thoughts.

 

Bucky did some groceries, and found Steve scrolling on his phone as he came in.

“Sam called me,” he immediately said. Better to pull off the band-aid as quickly as possible.

“Oh.” Steve replied, looking up and putting his phone away. Bucky dropped his bag on the kitchen table and came back to the living room. His friend looked nervous, playing with the cuff of his shirt. “Did he... What did he say?”

Bucky shrugged and sat down. “Nothing you should worry about. He's confused. He'll... He's going to need some time to think about it.”

“But why did he call you?”

Bucky leant back and put his arms behind his head. He could feel that this wasn't going to be the last conversation of this type they were going to have.

“He wanted someone to reassure him, I guess. Tell him that you truly meant it.”

“Of course I meant it! I wouldn't joke about something like-”

Bucky raised his hand, stopping him before he could talk further. “I know that. But you can't be mad at him. He was surprised. He's still surprised. You've got to be patient. And be there for him if he ever comes back to you. And that means as a friend as well.”

“Of course,” Steve nodded. He looked down at his hands. “Of course. I'm still his friend, I...”

“You're real lucky,” Bucky said without thinking. It made Steve look up immediately. “Sam's sweet. Despite everything, he's still worried about you. And he doesn't want to lose your friendship either. So don't ruin this, Rogers.”

“I'm trying,” Steve whispered.

“Did you talk to Peggy, then?”

“I did, yeah. She... she was surprisingly cool about it? I mean... We never used to talk about that. Back in school. And by _that_ I mean... queer stuff, I guess? I guess she had a girlfriend before so that explains it, but she was also very... casual about me being trans and having changed my name. And she knew what polyamorous means and she said she thought she'd be open to it, in theory, but she wasn't sure how it would work in practice. And that's... that's totally normal. That's good. She told me to... to keep her updated I guess. After I talked to Sam.”

“She sounds... nice. I... I'd like to meet her, I think.”

Steve smiled. “That would be nice. You're very different from each other, but I feel like you'd like her.”

“You met her at uni, right?”

“Yeah. One of the political science classes that I took as extra credit. We lost touch after our first year, and considering I had my legal name change in the meantime I didn't expect that she would ever find me again.”

“That does seem unlikely.”

“But apparently she heard one of her friends talk about me, and she remembered my last name so she looked up my portfolio online. And she contacted me by e-mail to see if I was the same person, if I wanted to hang out someday. Then there was the gallery opening thing.”

“And here we are. Right?”

“Yeah.” Steve let his face turn to a neutral expression.

“You did what you needed to, Steve. Things are in Sam's hands, now.”

“Yeah, I know.” He drew his knees towards his chest and huddled closer to Bucky, who let himself melt against him. “I know. I'm just scared. I really hope I didn't ruin things with him. I don't know how I would... I don't know what would happen if I did. I don't know if it would be the same with Peggy if Sam wasn't around.” He paused. “Does that make any sense? I'm not sure it makes sense.”

Bucky frowned a little. “I don't know. If it makes sense for you, then that's it. You can't do anything about it. And I guess... Well, you started dating Peggy while you still had a crush on Sam, so I guess it's normal that the feelings you have for the two of them get conflated somehow. They're linked because they happened at the same time, they come from the same psychological place. Or something.”

Steve looked up, raising an eyebrow. “Your therapist must be proud, you're starting to sound like her.”

Bucky shrugged. “I mean, the point of therapy is that I'm supposed to think about what she tells me. There would be no use in going otherwise.”

“Yeah, I guess. How is it going?”

That was the question Bucky always dreaded. “It's going... fine? Well? It's... hard to judge.”

“Yeah, I figure.”

“It's been so long, already. There's not real drastic change happening from day to day, I guess. That's a bit frustrating. I'm supposed to be making progress, but I can't really feel it. It's... I want to move past things, you know. But I don't know... I don't really know how much progress is even possible.”

Steve huddled closer. “I'm sorry I've been so distracted these past few weeks. I really am.”

Bucky sighed, running a hand through the short part of his hair. “It's okay.” He searched for his words a while. He was supposed to share the things he felt, to leave them out in the open and try not to feel guilty about it. “I mean... I missed you. It hurt a bit, in a way. But I asked for it as well, in a sense. I'm always going on about how I want to be independent, how I want to be able to live without anyone's help. I can't do that if I fall apart whenever you're distracted by something.”

“You... There's no shame in needing help, you know.”

Bucky looked up at the ceiling. He thought about the groceries getting warm on the kitchen table. He thought about the fact he still had his shoes on. Anything but to think about the things that hurt.

“I know that. If I think about it, I know that but... that's not realistic. That's not how the world, or people or... that's not how _I_ work. It feels too different. I constantly feel like I'm... like it's not good enough, because it's not like it was _before_.”

“It's never gonna be like before, Buck,” Steve said. He slid his fingers through Bucky's. He was sitting on his right side, so it was the flesh-and-blood hand, but Bucky still understood what the gesture meant. He had scars on his body that would never fade, it only made sense that his mind would have the same unseemly look.

“I'm trying to... I'm trying to find the good in the different. That's why I want to meet new people. I have to start new things. I want to replace all of the... I don't know. I don't think I can forget. Although sometimes... I guess I want to.”

“That's...”

“Really sad but also understandable?” Bucky asked ironically. “Trust me, I know. I've thought about it a whole lot, turns out.”

“It's...” Steve stopped himself. “Can I be the douchebag who says the really obvious thing like it's all so easy? Because I think you might need to hear it even if I also know that that's not how things work.”

Bucky laughed, then shrugged. It was true that sometimes he needed to hear the obvious bullshit. As much as it was annoying to feel like his struggle was never really understood, it helped to know that there was something _else_ than struggle. Something to strive for.

“Go ahead. Be the douchebag.”

“I think you can make new memories, and they don't have to erase the old ones. Because I don't think... I don't think that's healthy, and beyond that I'm not even sure that's possible.” Steve drew away a little bit, looking Bucky in the eye as he kept talking. “'Cause isn't that how trauma works? You try to supress traumatic memories, but they never really go away and then you're left with PTSD and other things like that. Or something. I don't know, I'm not...” He shook his head. “What I mean is... Sometimes you need a new beginning. You need to become a new person. And that's okay. But it doesn't mean you have to kill the person you used to be, you know? You don't have to destroy it and pretend it never existed. You can become someone else, and look at who you were, and see that those are two different people. But you can still acknowledge that you used to be that other person as well, you know?”

Bucky frowned. He looked at his friend and wondered, not for the first time, how much he had missed after leaving, and how many things Steve had had to go through alone.

“I've never really thought about it in terms of... Of being someone else. But I guess... It's weird, sometimes, being with you.”

Steve didn't seem obviously hurt by the comment, but his half-smile looked like it hid something. After all these years, his emotions were easy for Bucky to decode, and he could see how hard Steve was trying to be supportive.

“It's weird, because you knew me before, and you know me now. And sometimes I feel like... Like you'll expect something else. Something better or something... Something like the old me.”

“I...” Steve started fidgeting with the cuff of his shirt. “I can't promise I wont- Sometimes I do- Uh. I can't promise that it never... never happens. That I don't think about the way you sometimes acted before. But I won't ever... It's not something I'll ever hold against you. I can promise that. We're growing. It's normal that we're different... We're all changing and, okay, your change came in a really fucked up way and I would prefer if it had never happened and I never want you to get hurt ever again but... it happened. And it's part of you now. And I... I'm just glad I still have a chance to have you as a part of my life. I was... really scared. When we didn't know. When we didn't know what had happened, or if you would make it or... at the beginning. When you were bad. I was so scared that you would just... go.”

Bucky moved closer to his friend, almost unconsciously. He remembered that time, when he had just gotten out of the hospital. When the joyful feeling of newly found freedom quickly gave way to disgust at his constant failures, to a realisation of how little this new freedom shared with the one he had known before signing up. Those were the days when he had looked at his prosthesis with disgust. How could he feel anything else towards this alien bit of plastic and metal barely capable of imitating basic human functions? A myoelectric prosthesis, they'd said. Top of the line, they'd said. He should be happy, normally his insurance wouldn't cover such quality equipment, but this model hadn't been commercialized yet because they still needed to run some tests and...

Bucky had listened to all of what the doctors had said. He had nodded and said thanks, all the while thinking that this wasn't real. This couldn't be real. This wasn't his body, not his arm nor the lack of it.

In those days, maybe he would have just _gone_ if he had believed there was anywhere he could go.

“So yeah. I miss the old days, sometimes. I miss it because...” Steve let out a puff of breath. “It was easier to make you happy, then. But that's gone. And I still have a chance to make you happy _now_. And that's more than I could have asked for, I think. It's enough. It's all we have and it has to be enough, and I'll make it more than enough.”

Bucky sighed. The determination in Steve's voice was a comfort. He couldn't lie about that. “This isn't your fight alone, Rogers,” he said. “Hell, this isn't even your fight at all. But I... I'm glad that you're taking it on anyway. I don't know what I would have done... I don't know what I would have done, if you hadn't been there to remind me that... that there was something else. That it wasn't going to be just that, like that forever.”

“If I can't fight for you, how could you justify all the time you spent fighting for _me_ when we were younger?”

Bucky stretched his neck. “Yeah, well, we fit each other, I guess. Good news after all these years.” He stood up.

“Would you like to invite Peggy here? For dinner or something? I could... I could try and ask Clint? If you want to meet him as well?”

Bucky felt embarrassed at the timidity in his voice. In a sense, there was some comfort in keeping part of his life to himself. Steve was his best friend, though, his brother almost. The fact that the two men didn't yet know each other was only due to Bucky and Steve's distance of late, which stained the whole thing with painful memories.

There was also some apprehension at the idea of meeting Peggy and seeing Steve interact with her. As much as Bucky wanted to be supportive, he had gotten used to seeing his friend flirt with Sam, and wasn't sure how he would react to seeing him with his now girlfriend. Having someone else there to act as buffer was a precaution, in a sense.

“Uh? Yeah,” Steve replied. “Yeah, sure. That's actually a good idea. I would love to meet him. And I'll ask Peggy. This could be... this could be good, yes.”

Bucky nodded with a smile. “Give Sam some time. He'll get back to you.”

Steve paused, then let out a sigh. “Yeah. Okay. Thanks.”

“Now, _I_ haven't eaten anything this morning. Let me fix myself something before we get into more emotional discussions.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Sorry that this chapter is late! I wrote quite a lot during April, but editing got pushed aside for a while.  
> Gonna try to update once more in June, and then finish the fic during Aggressively Arospec Week. Yes, the fic is ending soon. It's doing things to my heart, if I'm quite honest.
> 
> Anyway! This chapter has porn.

“Hey, Clint, move your butt! Some of us are actually watching this movie!”

Bucky smiled as Clint put out his tongue towards Kate, who was leaning against America.

“Aah,” Clint sighed. “To be abused this way when I bear offerings of pizza. What has the world come to?”

“Don't throw me in with the lot of them!” Bucky pointed at Kate and her girlfriend. “I'm totally fine with looking at your butt.”

Clint grinned, and gave a shake of his hips right in front of the television, ignoring Kate's heckling.

America took the opportunity to take one of the pizza boxes from the coffee table. Clint then opened the second one, took out two plates and put a slice of pizza on each, handing one to Bucky.

“Because some of us are civilized,” he pointed out as Kate and America began eating directly from the box.

The couch was too small for four people to sit comfortably, and there was a comfortable armchair next to it, but Clint sat down on the couch's armrest instead, raising an eyebrow at Bucky to check whether he was fine with the close contact. He nodded, and they went back to watching Mad Max: Fury Road, commenting on the movie more than talking between themselves.

“So, what did you think?” America asked Kate with a grin.

“Yeah, okay,” she admitted. “It was really good. Thank you, O wise one, for educating me in all things cinematographic.”

“Heck yeah!” America exclaimed, putting her fist up in the air. Kate rolled her eyes at her in a fond way, before kissing her on the cheek.

The two of them were always like that, easily affectionate. Bucky looked at them and felt warm. They seemed to live in each other's space nearly as one being. Meanwhile, Clint was rolling his eyes at them and repeating his orders not to be gross on his couch. Despite his protests, he was fond of the couple, as proven by the fact that he kept inviting them over, or at least not kicking them out when they invited themselves.

Bucky had somehow fitted right in with their group, at least in Kate and America's eyes, and they had started teasing him when their first shared movie night hadn't even been over.

“And you Bucky?” America asked. “What' you think?” It was notorious that when America picked a movie, not liking it was a danger, as the woman was ready to debate the value of any of her favorites for hours on end. But Bucky didn't have to pretend in this case.

“I had seen it already, actually. I love it.” He raised his left hand, the joint of his prosthetic wrist clearly visible where his sleeve had ridden up. “And it's relatable.”

America laughed easily. “You too would drive an oil tank through the desert to save some innocent women?”

Bucky shrugged. “I've seen my fair share of desert, but when it's for a pretty lady...”

They chatted some more as they ate another pizza and Kate and America finished their beers, then the couple left. It was still rather early, so Bucky took the time to help Clint clean up.

“Would you come for dinner at my place some time? And meet my roommate?”

Clint looked up from loading up the dishwasher. “Yeah. Of course. I'd love to meet him.”

Bucky nodded.

“Is this a _meeting the parents_ kind of meeting though?”

“What?” Bucky frowned.

“I don't know! You look so solemn right now. I'd love to meet your roommate. But I was wondering... if you're putting special significance into it?”

“What would I... No. No, it's just...”

“I'm not accusing you of anything, I swear,” Clint said, putting his hands up. “It's just... you haven't invited me over before, and it seems like something serious to you, I guess. I just want to know what I'm getting into.”

“It's nothing. It's nothing. It's just... I asked Steve to meet his girlfriend, but I don't want to be there alone, and I also want you to meet him, because... he's important to me. We've had a... a rough time, I guess, these past months, but he means a lot to me, and you do too, and I would like you to meet each other.”

“Okay,” Clint replied. “I would be happy to. I'm not kidding, Bucky, I would love to.” He put a hand on his shoulder, and Bucky suddenly realised how much tension he had been holding in. “So Steve's dating someone?”

Bucky hadn't yet talked about it with Clint, since it didn't concern him directly. “Yeah. I told you about Peggy, right? That girl he met up with at the art gallery. They're officially dating now, so I thought it was time for me to meet her.”

Clint walked back to the living room as he talked, sitting down and indicating for Bucky to do the same.

“And wasn't there a guy? Sam?”

Bucky nodded. “Yeah. That was the big problem with Steve, and kind of why we weren't as close as usual these days. He was all hung up about not knowing what to do. But... we talked, a while ago. And then he talked to Peggy, told her about Sam. She was fine with it, apparently? Steve didn't give me much details.”

“That's good. Good of her, and good for Steve.”

“Yeah. He finally talked to Sam like... three days ago? It went...” Bucky trailed off. He didn't exactly have something he could compare this experience to, so he wasn't sure if it had gone well or not, actually. “Okay, I guess? Sam is... confused. I think he hadn't expected for Steve to make a move _ever_. I swear, they've been dancing around each other for years now.”

Clint chuckled at that.

“So now that Steve _has_ made his move, but also told him about Peggy... I think it's normal that Sam needs time. And he's a great guy so... I don't think anything _bad_ will happen. I guess the worst case scenario would be for him to say no, and to act a bit more coldly towards Steve for a while, but I don't think he could keep that up too long. Although...” He ran a hand through the longer part of his hair. “I guess that Steve... Steve could be the type to put more distance between them, to be honest. If he gets it into his head that that would be best for Sam or something stupid like that. But I don't think it would be best for either of them if that happened. Not on the long term.” He paused. “Sorry. I don't want to annoy you with all these stories.”

Clint shrugged. He leaned into Bucky, slowly and deliberately, giving him the time to pull away if he wanted to. It was similar to the kind of position Bucky would take if he was with Steve, though the sensation was somehow completely different.

“It's fine. I mean, don't ask me to _understand_ those kinds of things...” He hummed. “Actually, scratch that. I say that but it's not really true. I don't think I ever told you about that, but I actually thought I was polyamorous, for a while.”

“Really? That seems rather... counterintuitive. Considering...”

“Considering how I'm arospec as fuck now?” Clint shrugged. “You would think so, but from what I've heard it actually happened to a lot of people. A lot of arospec peeps have a hard time realising whether what they're feeling is romantic attraction or not, and since they love a lot of people in the same way, if they confuse those feelings for romantic, there's a chance they'll ID as poly for a while. Considering that I do feel attraction, and that I'm not asexual, it was pretty easy for me to identify with the label. So I guess I do understand. It's just so... _complicated_.”

It was Bucky's turn to chuckle. “You tell me.”

“I mean, good for them if it makes them happy in the long term. People deserve that. But when I hear stories like that I always feel like it's more effort than it's worth. Like... you said Sam and Steve have been dancing around each other for years. If they've enjoyed it like that for so long, will it actually change anything if they start dating?”

Bucky thought about it. “I guess they mostly... It justifies the time they spend together? And then...” He smiled. “I guess you could call Steve old-fashioned, but I'm pretty sure he hasn't even kissed Sam before, let alone slept with him. So that's... that's one of the reasons they want to officially get together, I guess. And, well, the Peggy thing does justify it some more, I guess?”

“Yeah... If they were planning on making it an exclusive relationship, there might be more to negotiate.”

“Mmh. I mean, you say it's so complicated,” Bucky began. “But I'm not so sure. People who want to be in a romantic relationship, they've got an idea of what to expect. There are all these unspoken rules, all these stereotypes, but it gives them a base to build on. When you're... when you try to make it work totally outside of the system, you've got to build everything from scratch. That's scary. And complicated. Doesn't it take more negotiations to define everything you want from nothing, instead of just basing yourself on a model and saying no to the things you don't want?”

“Is that how you feel about us?” Clint asked, tilting his head slightly. The gesture made him look slightly like a bird, which helped Bucky feel more comfortable with the question.

Bucky sighed. “I guess. Though it's not really your fault. It's also just because... I'm not always sure what I want, and I definitely can't articulate it very well.”

“You should... you should tell me, you know? I know I don't always... ask.”

Clint started staring at his hands. Bucky felt like this was becoming another deeply emotional conversation. He smiled. “God. My therapist will be so proud.”

Clint looked up, raising an eyebrow at him.

“I used to never talk about anything. Nothing at all, in the first few months after my accident. Then I just didn't talk about emotional stuff. And now I feel like that's all I'm doing. Talking about my feelings.”

“Well... that's a good thing, I guess?”

Bucky shrugged. “We'll see. It's not really the end goal, you know? That would be to get back to some kind of equilibrium.”

“I'm not sure anyone has that.”

“Fair enough. But you know what they say about aiming for the stars.”

“That it's not scientifically realistic?”

Bucky elbowed him in the stomach, grinning.

Clint regained his seriousness. “I mean what I said though. I know... I like to say it's the simplest thing. Just enjoying what you want without caring about the rules society might have created around it. But like you said... it's confusing. You need to tell me, when you feel that way. I definitely won't always know what to do but... we can figure it out together. I act very confidently about all of this, but in truth... I'm just winging it. Fake it 'til you make it.”

“Truly words to live by.”

“It's worked fairly well for me so far.”

“You tell me. The thing is... I'm sometimes confused. By what we are, what our relationship is.”

“Mmh.”

“I'm actually surprised by how fine I am with the fact that we're not dating. Because...” Bucky paused. “Okay, tell me if this question bothers you. Because that's really not the point. But... what's the difference? Between what we do and a romantic relationship. I mean... we literally snogged after going to a concert together.”

Clint seemed a bit tense, but not offended by the question. He sighed, huddling closer to Bucky in a way that made him think of Steve, despite the size difference between the two men.

“I've thought about this before, you know, but I don't have a clear answer. That's why I told you I couldn't always be sure of my own boundaries. I guess romance is what you make of it, really. It will be different for everyone. But you talked of working from a model, scratching out things that don't work... I can't do that. I guess a lot of what bothers me about romance it's that it's usually so reliant on those rules and expectations. Of course you can make exceptions, of course you can communicate and adapt things to your own needs, but for most people, romance involves checking things off of a list. Having your first kiss, holding hands, going on a romantic dinner, on holidays, calling each other ridiculous pet names... I can't work with that sort of script, because it makes me feel trapped. I feel like I can't trust myself or my partner in those situations, because I never know if I or they are behaving in a particular way just because that's what's _romantic_ and not because they actually want to.”

“So it's better to throw away the script entirely?”

Clint shrugged. “I guess so. At least it's what's proven to be better for me.”

Bucky nodded.

“What about you, Barnes? What's better for you?”

He thought about it. He had done so before, but he had to think again. He still had no clear answer to that question.

“I don't know. I'm supposed to be this really flirty guy, confident and funny. At least... well. Like I said, that's what I was _supposed_ to be. Before. So the easy answer is that I _should_ want, I should want a relationship. That's how I used to work. But then there was this period... this long period when I didn't really trust anyone. I didn't talk to anyone. Not even Steve, who's been the person the closest to me since _forever_. How would I have thought about a relationship when I couldn't even consider meeting someone new without freaking out? It wasn't even a question, at that point. But now... Now I've got the time and the energy to think about all of that, and the most confusing thing is that... I don't. I don't really know if I even _want_ to figure it out. Or maybe I do _want_ to, but at the same time it doesn't feel necessary. I don't know if it would change a thing.”

“That's... a lot?”

“Yeah... I'm not sure we're making it easy for each other.”

“Well, everyone has their way of being complicated, despite what movies try to tell us about literally every background character ever. We're trying. That's what matters. I guess.”

They stayed silent for a moment.

“Do you want to stay the night?” Clint asked.

If Bucky was honest with himself, digestion had started to do its thing with him, and sitting on the couch with Clint was too comfortable for him to contemplate moving. The fact that Summer had started saying its goodbyes and that the air was quickly becoming chillier just eased the matter.

“Sure. If that's not a problem for you. I'll just text Steve and let him know.”

Bucky pulled out his phone, sent Steve a quick message, and put the device down on the coffee table. He then settled back against Clint.

There was a moment of silence, one that verged on being awkward but somehow wasn't, not when they were sharing warmth and intimacy like this.

“Hey. What do you actually do for a living? I've known you for months and I still have no idea.”

Clint laughed. “Oh god. I never told you, really?”

“Well, no. Which is why I'm asking. I actually thought you were doing it on purpose, that you were being mysterious, or something.”

“Nah, not really. I guess it just seems... boring. I work as a translator, actually. Corporate stuff, mostly. I traveled a lot when I was a kid, stayed with a circus for a while, and that's how I realised I had a knack for languages. Took me a really long time to get any kind of official degree to prove it though. Studying's not really my thing. And now I've become just another slave to big companies and capitalism. But it pays the bills.”

“Wait. You stayed with a circus for a while? How did I not know this? Like, I understand not talking about a boring job but... You stayed with a circus?”

“Well, yeah. I was a kid performer.”

“Oh my god. Clint! Why is this not the thing you begin conversations with? You performed in a circus? What did you do?”

Clint scratched his neck, seeming slightly embarrassed. Bucky honestly couldn't care if he wasn't being restrained enough. This wasn't the kind of information you were restrained about. It just wasn't.

“Archery. Trick archery. Shooting at moving targets, or blindfolded, things like that.”

“Oh my god. Can you still do it?”

“Uh... yeah? I still do it as... sport, I guess? And I have a Youtube channel.”

Bucky gaped at him. He had spent so much time wondering what Clint did for a living, and was just now realizing there had been a much more interesting mistery right in front of him _this whole time_.

“You do trick archery on Youtube. And never once thought to mentioned that in a conversation.”

Clint shrugged. “It's not a subject that comes up really often?”

“What?! You...” Bucky shook his head. “Actually, you know what? I'm not even really mad at you, right now. I'm way madder that even _Kate_ didn't mention anything. I thought she was a friend.”

“Well, I mean... I guess she's used to it? She actually sometimes makes videos with me. She's crazy good. Better than me, probably, if we judge by technique only.”

“What? Seriously? Kate too?”

“I'm sorry. I really didn't know it was that big of a deal? I mean, most of my other friends know and I just... didn't think about it. It really wasn't against you.”

“No, no, don't worry,” Bucky replied reassuringly. “I'm not mad or anything. Just surprised. I just really didn't expect it. It's like I'm discovering this whole new part of you, you know?”

“Well... I guess. But that's, normal, isn't it? To still discover new things about each other? That's good?”

“Yeah, Clint. It's good.”

Bucky felt warm and comfortable and on the verge of laughter, and it just seemed like the perfect moment to kiss Clint. And so he put a hand on the other man's cheek, slowly turned his face towards him and leaned closer, making his intentions clear. Clint didn't resist or protest, and leaned slightly forward too.

So Bucky closed the distance, and Clint's lips were chapped, and they both smelled of pizza and soda, and it was nice. They both had to crane their neck a little bit, and so they shifted positions. There was a bit of push and pull, before Bucky ended up lying along the whole length of the couch with Clint on top of him, knees on both sides of Bucky's hips.

Clint grinned, breaking the kiss and hovering just an inch or two above Bucky's reach.

“Gotta put that upper-body strength to use, you know?”

Bucky really wanted to wipe that smirk off his face. And well... his arms were maybe more fragile than they used to, but his abs were fine. So he quickly moved up, just to give Clint a new peck on the lips.

“Come on, Barnes, that's not the point,” Clint said laughing. He leaned down again, forcing Bucky against the cushions once more, and started kissing his neck and jaw.

Bucky tensed up for a second, then let go. This was nice. It was good. He was allowed to enjoy this. It was good if he did, and he could make Clint enjoy it as well. Yeah. That would be nice.

“Tell me if you don't like something. Or if you wanna stop,” Clint said in a low voice. “Or if you want something. Just tell me. Okay?”

“Yeah,” Bucky let out as Clint softly bit down on the junction between his neck and right shoulder. “Okay.”

He let Clint kiss and suck on his skin for a while, lifting the bottom of his t-shirt and running a hand on the skin of his back in retaliation. After a minute of this treatment, though, he pulled Clint upwards again, kissing him once more. They were both open-mouthed from the start this time, tongues brushing against each other and low gasps intermingling until it was impossible to distinguish their owner. Bucky ran a hand through Clint's short hair, who did the same through Bucky's. Experimentally, he gave a small tug to on of Bucky's long strands. Bucky gasped, bucking his hips involuntarily. Clint did it again. Bucky moved his hand to Clint's ass, squeezing slightly, then pushing down as he bucked up.

“Oh God,” Clint said, pressing down against Bucky as he deepened the kiss even further. He leaned back after much too short a moment, Bucky unconsciously chasing after him. “Let's go to my bedroom? There's a bed there. A big bed. Please?”

Bucky nodded, standing up after Clint and following him to the bedroom. He closed the door behind him and immediately pushed Clint down where he had just sat down on the edge of the bed. Clint half-heartedly protested, so after one more kiss they both took out their shoes and socks. Then it was Clint's turn to attack Bucky and push him down before he had time to undress further, once again slipping a hand through his long hair as he kissed him. Bucky ran a hand up Clint's side and tugged at his t-shirt. He took the hint and pulled it over his head, though before the garment had even hit the floor he was back at kissing the underside of Bucky's jaw. He had known before that Clint's arms were muscular, and now even had an explanation as to why, but his chest was well-defined as well. Bucky noticed a scar on Clint's back, dangerously close to his spine, as well as a small one just above his hip. He let his right hand trail down the man's shoulder as they kissed, both starting to thrust their hips together as their dicks grew to full hardness.

“Clint, mmh, Clint, come on.” The blond looked up. “Take your pants off, I want to feel you.”

Clint grinned at that, and immediately started working on unzipping his fly. Bucky did the same with his own, and Clint started pulling Bucky's jeans off as soon as he had discarded his. He then started pulling at Bucky's shirt.

Bucky opened his mouth, hesitating for a second, and Clint's hands immediately stilled.

“It's fine,” Bucky said, pulling the long-sleeved shirt above his head and throwing it across the room. “Just... don't look at the scars too much?”

Clint nodded, put a hand on each of Bucky's cheeks, looked him straight in the eyes and proceeded to kiss him breathless. Bucky wanted to laugh. He felt light, as if his body was going to fly away on the next breath. As if anything was possible.

Bucky put his right hand on Clint's butt again, this time slipping it under the waistband of his boxers. Clint groaned against Bucky's skin, then bit down right next to one of his nipple. Bucky bucked his hips up to meet Clint's, desperately seeking some friction against his erection. He started pulling at Clint's boxer shorts, slowly easing them down.

“Come on,” Clint whined, thrusting down slightly.

Bucky finally raised his left arm, using both hands to pull the other man's shorts down and throw them off the bed. Clint didn't react at the weird texture of the prosthesis, sitting up above Bucky's thighs and asking for permission to undress Bucky further. Eyes on Clint's dick, Bucky forced himself to look up and nod. Clint grinned, discarding him of their last item of clothing.

They were left staring at each other for a moment, and both men laughed. Then Bucky moved up a little to lean against the cushions, and beckoned Clint over.

“What do you want to do?” he asked.

“What do _you_ want to do?” Clint replied, straddling his hips.

“I asked first,” Bucky pointed out.

“I ask-” Before he could finish his quip, Bucky pulled him down and rose to kiss him, biting down on his lower lip. Then he leaned away, and pulled slightly on Clint's hair when the man moved as if to follow him. “What do you want?”

“Uuuh.” Clint closed his eyes. “Can I ride you?” He asked, face scrunched up as if he was afraid of the answer he would get.

Bucky breathed out, and thought about it. “Yeah,” he let out, voice gravelly with arousal. “Yeah, that would be great.”

“Let me just...” Clint said as he leaned over and looked through a bedside drawer for lube and a condom. He started squirting lube on his hand, but Bucky stopped him.

“Can I? It's been a long time... I want to feel...”

Clint nodded enthusiastically, quickly transferring the lube to Bucky's righ hand.

“Could we move for this? Prep will be easier if I don't have to support my weight.”

Bucky nodded, and they switched place. He once again felt breathless, leaning over Clint as the man looked at him with a bright smile and awe in his eyes. Bucky felt like his ribcage was going to explode, but for once it was a good feeling. He balanced himself on his prosthesis, careful, and leaned down to kiss Clint. The man moaned in his mouth, so Bucky carefully started rubbing a finger against his entrance.

“Please,” Clint whispered against Bucky's lips, and he pushed in. It _had_ been a long time, and Bucky was quietly amazed at the way he felt the muscles shift around his fingers, first tensing up then relaxing and inviting him further. He started pushing in and out a few times, carefully, twisting his finger to stretch the ring of muscles. Then he heard Clint let out a laugh and looked up.

“Sorry, sorry,” Clint said, running a hand through his own hair. “You just look so focused.” He put a palm against Bucky's cheek. “It's adorable.” He ran a finger across Bucky's lips. “I won't break, you know? I mean, take all the time you need, but... I won't break. And I'll tell you if it's too much.”

Bucky worried his lower lip, leaning into Clint's hand, which had moved back to his cheek. “Okay.”

He pushed a second finger in, and felt Clint move his hips slightly to accommodate him. He started pushing in and out, then crooked his fingers a little. “Oh, yeah!” Clint explained, groaning as Bucky repeated the exact same motion. “Right there...” Bucky smiled as Clint started running a hand against his rib, digging his nails in his skin every time Bucky rubbed against his prostate. Bucky started scissoring his fingers, neglecting Clint's prostate despite the man's whine. “I don't want it to hurt,” he explained, voice pitched low.

“Yeah, well,” Clint groaned as he shifted his hips and tried to get Bucky deeper inside him. “I'm starting to think it's not gonna be worth it if you don't-.”

He groaned again as Bucky gave a deeper thrust.

“Just kidding. I am loving this, but also-” Bucky felt nails dig much deeper than before in the flesh just under his ribs. “Please add a third finger now.”

Bucky did as he was instructed, breathing heavily and looking Clint in the eyes, even if they were half-closed. Clint moaned. “You're an angel.” He rocked his hips again, and Bucky laughed. Clint was all splayed out, hands running all over Bucky's back and shoulders and sending delicious shivers down his spine. It felt like too much, and at the same time was just perfect.

Clint opened his eyes, and grinned at him. Bucky couldn't help but smile back, then crooked his fingers just the right way to make Clint moan obscenely. “Okay, no, I object, that's totally not fair,” Clint protested even as he started rocking his hips earnestly. “You cannot look at me like that and then do _that,_ uuuh, please do admire... the fact that... I'm coherent right now... oh god, please, please, please can I get your dick inside me.”

Bucky groaned. His neglected erection was starting to make itself known, so he groaned in assent and slowly pulled his fingers out.

“Oh god,” Clint said, clenching around thin air a few times. Then he pulled Bucky down for a kiss, and rolled him over so he was on top once more. “Can I?” He asked, picking up the condom package. "Yeah, yeah," Bucky nodded.

Clint first stook the time to stroke his dick, slowly, and Bucky groaned. It was finally some contact, but it wasn't enough, far from that, not with the promise of Clint above him. He sighed with relief when Clint finally tore apart the small package and starting rolling the condom down his prick. Clint then put two fingers inside himself, making sure he was well-relaxed. Bucky had to bite down on his lip, watching him. He couldn't think of anything else in that moment but the sight before him and the way his body felt on fire. He was extremely grateful for that.

Clint started to line himself up, then pushed down slowly. Bucky held his breath for a second, before realizing he was doing it and exhaling softly. It felt warm, and tight, and overwhelming. It felt foreign, and welcome, and Bucky kept his eyes open through it all, despairingly trying to make himself remember that this was real.

Clint exhaled deeply, sliding up slightly, then down against, until his hips were flushed with Bucky's.

“Clint...”

“Oh gosh, _Bucky_. This is so good.”

And then he started moving, without more warning. Would Bucky ever regain his breath? He wasn't sure. He wasn't going to ask. He put his right hand against Clint's hips, and the man moaned, shifting his angle slightly. He was moving rather slowly, but deliberately, and Bucky quickly started following the same rhythm with shallow thrusts of his own.

Bucky bit his lip, holding back a groan at the feeling of Clint's muscles tight around him, then carefully lay his left hand just above the man's hips. Clint took him in all the way again, opening his mouth on a wordless gasp which turned into a keening noise when Bucky started touching his dick with his other hand.

Clint opened his eyes all the way just so he could stare at Bucky, groaning. “You are so fucking beautiful and good and... oh god, can you, can I just...” He leaned forward, holding himself up above Bucky with his arms. Bucky's dick almost slipped out at the movement, but Clint just held himself up on one hand to guide it back in. Bucky groaned at that, and Clint picked up a faster rhythm.

“Please, Buck, please,” he gasped out as Bucky continued to stroke his cock.

“Yeah. Yeah, anything, tell me.”

“More, please, please, please,” Clint said, and Bucky started thrusting harder, gasping at the same time as Clint. He gathered the precum at the top of Clint's shaft and slid down again, twisting his wrist. He repeated the movement as Clint started whispering a litany of “I'm close, I'm close, I'm close.” His thrust were now completely erratic, but he somehow managed to take Bucky impossibly deeper.

Bucky felt like he was on fire, a flame that build in his gut and spread through his chest and up to his throat. Then Clint cried out, left arm almost buckling. He clenched down around Bucky, who kept thrusting as much as he could, unfocused as he stroked Clint's cock through his orgasm.

Clint was breathing loudly and fast. He finally looked up, expression slightly dazed and sweat running down his forehead. “You asked me what I wanted. Can I finish you with my mouth? Please?”

Bucky groaned, throwing his head back against a pillow at the mere image of it. “Yeah. Yeah. Please. I'm close, I'm...” He whined as Clint pulled off. His erection ached, and he was shivering from arousal despite feeling way too hot.

Then Clint's mouth closed around him, and Bucky bit down on his arm to stifle his moan. Clint took his cock in hand at the base, and carefully licked up and down his shaft, before taking him in his mouth again and sucking.

Bucky forced himself to look, because he knew he would regret it otherwise. He raised his left hand and ran it through Clint's dishevelled hair. He couldn't actually feel the texture of it, but could see Clint relax at the touch even as he kept focused on his work around Bucky's cock.

“Oh god. I'm gonna, I'm gonna-” He said, desperately trying to not to thrust up into Clint's throat. The man pulled off with an obscene _pop_ and started stroking him.

“Yeah, come on, Bucky, come on.”

Bucky muffled another whine in his arm, and came in Clint's hand, coating his fingers and some of his chest in semen. He groaned, collapsing against the pillow. He felt like his breathing could be heard from the next room.

“Thank you,” he said, barely over a whisper.

Clint chuckled. “Oh my god. Thank _you_.” He leaned down, settling on his side to avoid coating all the bedsheets with cum. They kissed, slow and deep. This kiss was less of an exploration now, and more something they shared. There was no goal to it, no projected next move. Just a moment of intimacy wrapped in the smell of sweat and sex.

“I'm gonna clean us up. And I can lend you a t-shirt to use as Pjs, if you want.”

“Yeah. That would be nice,” Bucky said, starting to sit up as Clint did so.

“No, no, no. You stay in bed. I'll be right back.”

Bucky smiled, content as he watched Clint walk out of the bedroom to pick up a washcloth. His body was buzzing, not as it did when he was anxious, but in the way embers crackled as you warmed your hands over them.

Clint came back into the room, already washed up, and carefully cleaned him of all traces of their cum before finally allowing him to stand up and put on one of his t-shirts.

It was too big for Clint and barely Bucky's size, but none of them cared as they put their boxers back on.

“I need to... It's better if I take my prosthesis off to sleep,” Bucky said.

“Yeah. Of course. Do you want some privacy?”

Bucky shook his head. “No, no. It's fine. Just warning you.” He sat down on the bed again as he worked on unlocking the arm proper from where it connected to his shoulder. In the meantime, Clint set about picking up all of their discarded clothing, folding Bucky's and draping his above the back of a chair standing next to his dresser.

Bucky let out a huff of pain as the mechanism finally released, pulling at his skin, and saw Clint look up. He didn't say anything, though, and Bucky lay the prosthesis across his knee as he carefully massaged his stump.

“You can... leave it on the bedside table, I guess?” Clint said. “That's probably the most convenient.”

“Okay,” Bucky said, and did just that.

Clint joined him on the bed and settled against the cushions. He then pointed at his earing aids. “I have to take those off as well. If there's something you need during the night, you'd better just shake me awake. I'm a light sleeper anyway, so it's really no worries.”

“Okay,” Bucky nodded.

“Okay.”

Clint slowly took the aids out, and handed them out to Bucky to set them next to the prosthesis on the bedside table. Then they both settled under the covers, and Bucky closed his eyes.

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A slightly shorter chapter than usual, but that's because you'll be getting a nice treat for #AggressivelyArospecWeek starting on the 24th of June ;)

Clint was still asleep when Bucky woke up, and he took a second to appreciate the sight. Clint slept on his side, and right now he had one arm stretched above his head and the other lying near Bucky. From its position, it had probably held onto Bucky at one point during the night. Clint also apparently slept with his mouth half-open, and had an impressive case of bedhead. It was confusingly adorable.

Bucky stood up softly. He considered putting the prosthesis back on again, but felt like it wasn't necessary. So he simply walked out of the bedroom, careful not to let the door creak. He had a pee, then went to the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water. He had just settled down on the couch when he noticed his phone, abandonned on the coffee table. He remembered texting Steve that he wouldn't be home last night, but also that he hadn't actually waited for a response. He quickly opened the message he'd received in return.

_Okay, thanks for letting me know. Tell Clint I say hi, and take care!_

Bucky smiled, feeling warm and at ease in a way that felt fundamentally right. The kind of rightness everyone always promised life would be full of.

He closed his eyes and sipped some of his water. He had nothing to do, nowhere to go, and for once the prospect was more comforting than terrifying. He could enjoy this moment, and take the time to pretend it would last forever.

He had stepped into a state that could almost be called meditation when he was interrupted by a loud yawn.

This just made him smile harder, and he looked over the back of the couch to where Clint had just emerged out of the bedroom, hair a complete mess. Clint didn't seem to notice him, making a bee-line to the coffee machine and setting a pot to brew. He stretched his arms above his head, and Bucky found it easy to stare, like the strip of skin revealed by Clint's t-shirt was already familiar territory.

It took two more minutes for Clint to finally look up at Bucky. His eyes widened. “Oh, shit,” Clint said, immediately darting back to the bedroom.

Bucky frowned until he saw Clint come out with one of his hearing aids in hand, having already put in the other one.

“Sorry about that,” Clint started again, scratching the back of his head in embarrassment. “I'm very bad at anything involving cognition if I haven't had a cup of coffee first. Which includes remembering when I have someone over and that it's generally seen as appropriate to be able to hear people when you're having them stay at your place.”

Bucky laughed. “It's okay. You already did me a favor by letting me stay, I'm not gonna push my luck and start criticizing your morning routine.”

“You wouldn't be the first one.” Clint frowned, then pointed an accusing finger. “How is your hair not a mess? This isn't fair.”

Bucky laughed again, louder and more freely this time. “I'm just that lucky. Doesn't seem to be your case though.”

Clint resorted to showing him his middle finger, turning around to pour himself a large mug of coffee, and Bucky cackled.

The blond actually came back with two mugs, putting the largest one on the coffee table and handing Bucky the other. “Do you take anything with this? I've got sugar. And I think I've got milk? I'd have to check if it's still good but... yeah.”

“Black is fine.”

Clint looked relieved. He picked up his mug and sat down on the couch next to Bucky. The latter was about to take a sip of his coffee and return to the serene thinking-about-nothing he had been doing earlier, but was interrupted by Clint asking if he was okay with cuddling.

“I'm asking because it's polite but also like... warning you that I am basically an octopus in the morning and that you can kick me away at any time if it starts getting annoying, and also feel free to just say no because obviously not everyone is into cuddling even if we...”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Had sex?”

“Yeah. Even if we had sex.”

Bucky took a second to consider things, especially because Clint was sitting on his left side. Then he shrugged, and turned his shoulders towards the man invitingly. “Cuddle away.”

Clint beamed at him before snuggling into his side and closing his eyes, taking a sip of his coffee and sighing like there was nowhere he would rather be in the world.

They stayed like that for a few minutes, in silence. Bucky could feel his stomach start to grumble, and knew he would have to ask for some food pretty soon, but he didn't feel like dislodging Clint right now. The couch was comfy and soft, and the other man was warm against his side. Food could wait a little longer.

Although, thinking of eating did make him remember something.

“Hey,” he said softly, receiving an inquiring hum as a response as Clint kept drinking his coffee with his eyes closed. “You still okay with coming over to my flat and meeting Steve?

Clint pulled away at that, looking him in the eyes. “You know, the way you keep insisting on this, it really sounds like we just got engaged and I'm about to meet your parents.”

Bucky shook his head. “Nah. You're gonna have to wait a while for that still. I'm not really in touch with my mom much.”

“You didn't say we hadn't just got engaged,” Clint pointed out, smiling.

And Bucky found himself laughing again. “You might have to wait a while for that too.”

Clint gave him a look that he guessed was supposed to be suggestive, although his bedhead made it look more ridiculous than anything. Bucky raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

“I'm serious though. Are you sure you're okay with coming? Because... well, I really want you there. But I'm not sure how it's gonna go, because I really don't know Peggy. Steve would be happy to meet you, though, I think. No pressure though. I mean... it wouldn't be a big dinner or anything. Just a way to spend an evening together. Get to know each other.”

Clint ran a hand through his hair. “I'm... Yeah. I mean, yeah, if you want me to come I'll try to be there.” He paused. “I just... Do you think it'll be okay with your roommate? I'm not...”

“You're not what?” Bucky frowned.

“Well, you already sound nervous and I... I'm not usually the kind of person people want to introduce to their other friends.”

Bucky was at a loss. “Why? Why wouldn't I... introduce you to my friends? I love spending time with you. You're funny, you're considerate, you make me feel at ease. Why wouldn't I want other people to get to know you?”

Clint pulled away almost imperciptably, folding his arms around himself. “Well, I don't know. I'm kind of a mess of a person. I'm unable to stick to the schedule of any normal futzing person because of insomnia and, like, my only close friends are either people I work for or kids nearly ten years younger than me and I don't have any of the goals people are supposed to have in life so that kind of limits the subjects of conversation and... I don't know!”

He raised his voice on the last word, then turned away, seemingly realising how defensive he had been acting. Bucky didn't know if he should reach out with one hand or leave Clint alone as he processed things.

In the end, he put his nearly empty cup of coffee on the table, and turned more fully towards Clint, trying to show that he was there and attentive without actually intruding on the other man's personal space.

“I don't know what other people have told you, Clint, but I like you. I like spending time with you. And who cares about regular life goals? I exchanged my arm for a shitload of PTSD after joining the army to run away from my problems, and I don't know if I'll ever be able to work again. I don't give a fuck about regular life goals. Neither does Steve. He worked super hard for me to let him be my friend again, just so that he could take care of me. We don't care. And neither should you. We're not gonna judge.”  
“Okay,” Clint said.

It threw Bucky off, has he had expected to have to fight much more than that to make himself heard. “Okay?”

“Yeah. Okay. I'll come have dinner with you and your roommate.”

His tone was carefully neutral, which made something hurt in Bucky's chest. “Clint... I'm sorry if the way I said things made you think that... that you _have to_ come. I don't want to force you to do anything you're not comfortable with.”

Clint shook his head. “No, no. I'll come. I'll... I'll try to come. If I can. I didn't mean... I didn't mean to make it sound like I'm not... like I don't want to.”

“Okay...” Bucky kept silent for a moment, unconvinced, as Clint downed the last of his coffee. Then his stomach grumbled. Apparently his inner clock was telling him it was time to change the subject. “Any chance of you having something I could eat before I head off?”

Clint smiled easily, as if the strained conversation that had just passed was already but a distant memory. “I can look. I know I've got cereals because Kate keeps some around for when she crashes here. I probably have some leftover bread we can toast and... eggs? I think? Though I can't promise not to burn them.”

“I can cook the eggs if you want. I don't mind.”

“Sure,” Clint replied, standing up. “Do you need to... uh...” He faltered, hesitating, then tilted his head towards Bucky's left shoulder.

“Uuh...” Bucky felt himself blush, which wasn't a reaction he had expected. “Nah. I can manage without if it's just cooking eggs. It's more comfortable if I don't wear the prosthesis too long.”

Clint nodded. “Well, follow me, then.”

The grandeur of the order was completely unnecessary considering Bucky had been here before and that the kitchen was more a half-closed off area in a corner of the living-room than an actual other room, but then again. This was Clint Barton.

 

The dinner was planned on a Saturday two weeks from then, because Peggy worked during the week and couldn't free herself up before then. Both Steve and Bucky were vibrating with anxious energy as they prepared the food, orbiting around one another without actually talking more than strictly necessary. It was tense and painful and the opposite of what this evening was supposed to be. Bucky felt almost physically sick with it, but he didn't know how to tell Steve, didn't want to admit all that he was scared of. He was scared of meeting Peggy, of not liking her and breaking Steve's heart. He was scared that Peggy wouldn't like _him_ , that she would take one look at him and see right through everything, see how much of a burden he was on Steve, and that she wouldn't stand for it. Scared that she would take Steve away. And he was scared about Clint, because although he had meant every word he had told him, Clint's own doubts had started creeping into Bucky's brain. What if Steve didn't like him? What if Steve thought he was wasting his time? What if they fought and it ruined everything?

It was awful. Everything was awful and Bucky found himself gripping the countertop and staring into the pot of carrot and orange juice soup that was starting to bubble ominously.

“Hey,” Steve said softly. Bucky forced himself not to jump, and turned to face his best friend.

“Hey.”

Steve smiled tensely. “We need to talk.” His expression looked like a flinch put on hold, which would have been hilarious if Bucky didn't feel how serious the moment was.

“Yeah. Yeah, we do.”

“Couch?”

“Okay.” Bucky turned down the power of the stove so the soup wouldn't boil over and finally pulled himself away from the counter.

They both sat down on the living-room couch, an old thing that had belonged to Steve's mom and that that none of them would even consider getting rid of despite how lumpy it was.

“This evening is supposed to be nice,” Steve began. Bucky stiffly nodded in response. There was a pause. “It's not looking like it's gonna be nice, right now.”

Bucky looked down at his lap. “Yeah. Sorry, I...” He faltered, too scared of what he was going to say to find the right words.

“No, I'm sorry too,” Steve said then. “We've both been... cagey. It's definitely not just you.” He fiddled with the edge of his shirt. “I've been... worried. Scared. Of how this is gonna go.”

“Me too,” Bucky replied, voice low and eyes still cast low. “Clint as well.”

“I know you like Sam. And I'm afraid you won't get along with Peggy in the same way, and that you'll get mad at what I've wasted with Sam and...”

“You haven't wasted anything. Sam hasn't answered yet.”

“I know. I know but... It's been...” Bucky looked up, but it was Steve's turn to turn away. “I don't want to get my hopes up.”

“I'm scared that Peggy and I won't get along, and that she will make you choose between the both of us.”

Steve opened his mouth, ready to protest the idea, but Bucky kept talking.

“And I'm scared you won't like Clint, because _he_ 's scared you won't like him, and I don't know why that's actually so scary, except that you mean a lot to me and that I like Clint a lot and that I would really love it if you two could become friends. So yeah.”

Steve ran a hand through his hair, then across his face. “Urgh. What a mess. Do you...” He looked up, uncertain. “Do you want to call the dinner off?”

Bucky froze for a second. Did he? Then he shook his head. “No. I don't think that's a good idea. I think that if we did that we wouldn't ever be able to do it again. We'd be even more scared. I think this is a pull-the-band-aid-off situation.”

Steve nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. I think you're right.”

“We'll just... We know each other.” Steve nodded again. “We can trust each other's tastes, right? And even if... if something happens. We can talk it out.”

“It won't... it won't come between us. It can't. It's just... she's just my girlfriend.”

“And Clint's not even my boyfriend.”

Steve smiled tiredly, then reached out slightly. “Can I...?”

Bucky closed the rest of the distance, wrapping his arms around his best friends. Steve melted into the embrace, hiding his face against Bucky's shoulder. They both focused on calming their breathing down, letting the warmth and calm wash over them.

“Should we make sure everything's ready?” Steve whispered against Bucky's shirt.

“Yeah. Let's do that. Let's be perfect hosts and make our mothers proud, shall we?”

The joke was bad, but unexpected enough that it surprised a short laugh out of Steve. He got up and gave a hand to Bucky, which was funny in and of itself, since Bucky probably weighed twice as much as Steve even without his prosthesis on.

In that moment, it looked like it could still be okay.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy #AggressivelyArospecWeek 2018!

There were carrot sticks, guacamole, vegetable chips and pistacchios on the coffee table when the doorbell first rang. There were sweet potato fries in the oven as well, because Peggy was apparently a vegetarian and Steve had taken that to mean he should break out his best hipster cookbook. But Bucky couldn't complain, since he loved cooking and was currently the one too busy fussing over whether to add more spices to his soup to go and answer the door. So Steve handled it, buzzing in whoever had been ringing and directing them to their floor.

“Hi,” Bucky heard Steve say after a minute of silence. “You must be Clint?”

With a deep breath, Bucky finally put the lid back on his pot of soup, turned the stove off and wiped his hands on a towel. He schooled his face into a smile and joined Steve and Clint at the front door.

“Hey there,” Bucky greeted, before a bottle was immediately shoved into his hands.

“I didn't know what to bring so I had Kate help me find a bottle a wine,” Clint said as way of explanation, embarrassed. Bucky noticed that he was wearing an actual collared shirt for the first time since he'd met him. It looked nice on him, although Bucky didn't think Clint was used to wearing red, or anything that wasn't a loose t-shirt and a jacket. Clint had only half-been joking when he had compared meeting Steve to meeting Bucky's parents, then, if he had felt like the occasion warranted dressing up.

“Thanks. Come with me and I'll put it in the fridge?” Bucky threw a look at Steve as he talked, hoping the other man would understand he wanted to talk to Clint alone. Steve gave a small nod. “Here...” Bucky gestured to the kitchen, walking back as Clint followed him.

“Thank you for the wine,” he said once they were in the next room. He turned around towards Clint, and quickly pressed a small kiss against his lips.

Clint blinked, taken aback. “Oh. Uh... You're welcome?”

Bucky grinned. He thought that this could be a perfect way to keep both him and Clint distracted from their nervousness. He put the bottle of wine in the fridge while Clint hovered about him.

“I feel like you should now Steve is possibly as nervous as you. I don't know if that's reassuring or not. But we talked about it. So like, don't feel like you have to... I don't know. Perform? Impress him? It's just a dinner between friends.”

Clint sighed, leaning against the kitchen counter. He fiddled with the collar of his shirt, then groaned. “Shit. I fucking dressed up for this.”

Bucky smiled. “You look nice.”

Clint shrugged. “I didn't even remember I owned this shirt. I think I got it as a gift like... years ago. I'm glad it still fits.”

“It really does,” Bucky said with a smirk. It add the desired effect of distracting Clint enough for him to forget his embarrassment for at least a second. “Should we go face Steve and the horrendous quantity of food we prepared?”

Clint chuckled. “Yeah. Yeah, sure.” Bucky was about to turn back towards the living room, but Clint reached for his arm. “Can I...?”

Bucky nodded, leaning forward as they exchanged another quick kiss. He felt Clint start to genuinely smile against his lips, which filled his stomach with warmth.

“For good luck. Okay. Let's meet your roommate who is definitely not the equivalent of your parents.” They both grinned.

 

“Clint, Steve; Steve, Clint,” Bucky said. “Now let's sit down.”

Steve grinned. “Okay, boss.”

Bucky put his tongue out childishly, taking one edge of the couch and gesturing for Clint to sit next to him. There was still space for Steve on Clint's other side if he wanted, but he took the armchair instead.

“I got a text from Peggy. She's gonna be a tiny bit late.”

“Is something wrong?”

Steve shook his head. “Nah, I don't think so. She would have said something. Should I just grab some drinks already while we eat?”

“Sure. We still have ginger beer, right?”

“Yeah, I bought some.”

“Clint? Do you want some wine or some beer? We don't really keep anything stronger in the flat, sorry.”

“A beer would be great.”

Steve nodded and left the room. Clint pushed against Bucky's side with his elbow. “Dude. I am so stupid and so sorry. I brought you wine. You don't even drink. I'm an idiot.”

Bucky shrugged. “It's okay. It's easy to forget. Steve likes wine, so at least it will give him an excuse to drink some. He'll be happy.”

Clint groaned. “Still. It sucks. I should have just brought some chocolate. Or some flowers! Why do we only bring flowers to women? Kate would kick me in the butt if she knew I was still buying into this gender-roles bullshit. I'll bring some flowers next time.”

“You don't need to feel like you need to bring something. I told you. It's just dinner between friends.”

Clint pointed at the coffee table. “You made carrot sticks.”

Steve came back at that moment and put down three glasses, one with beer in front of Clint, and two ginger ales. “And we've got sweet potato fries in the oven.”

Clint gaped, turning towards Bucky as if to ask if this was for real. Bucky shrugged. “We both like to cook.”

“I feed you pizza everytime you come to my flat!” Clint exclaimed, as if this was a sign of imminent disaster.

“I like pizza,” Bucky replied, at that same time as Steve said “He likes pizza.”

They laughed.

“Oh god. I'm gonna eat carrot sticks prepared by psychics.”

“I don't think we're psychics,” Steve replied, a smile on his lips. “We've just known each other for a very, very long time.”

“Okay, but consider this. If you were a psychic and wanted to hide it, this is exactly what you would say.”

Steve and Bucky exchanged a look and then, grinning, Bucky picked up the bowl of carrot sticks and presented it to Clint. He took one, pretending to be suspicious, and Bucky thought that nothing in the world could go wrong.

 

The doorbell rang again, making Steve jump, and he quickly got up to buzz Peggy in. They exchanged a quick kiss as she entered, and Bucky tried not to stare. After she had hung her jacket, Steve guided her to the living-room for a new round of introductions.

“Peggy, this is Bucky, my roommate.” Bucky smiled and gave a small wave. “And his friend Clint.” They both nodded at each other. “And this is Peggy. My... uh...”

“Girlfriend,” Peggy finished confidently, amused at Steve's embarrassment.

“Yeah. Can I get you something to drink?”

“What are you guys drinking?”

“Ginger beer, and regular beer for Clint. We've also got some wine, if you want.”

“Don't open a bottle just for me...”

“I'll join you afterwards, it's no trouble.”

Bucky discreetly turned towards Clint. “See? I told you he would like the wine.” Clint shrugged.

Bucky turned back towards Peggy again, taking the time to look at her more closely now that Steve was gone. She was a rather lean white woman, though Bucky felt unable to describe her as frail. There was a tension in her shoulders and a rightness to her posture that made her look more imposing than her size. She was wearing bright red lipstick, and her brown hair fell over her shoulders in decontracted waves. Steve had said that he had known her years ago, but Bucky had difficulty imagining her any younger than this. She was the kind of person who wore adulthood and responsibility with confidence, like a second skin. Bucky felt his stomach tighten and, ashamed, had to admit that he was feeling jealous. This is the kind of person he had thought he could become someday.

“So, Peggy. How are you doing?” Bucky asked, hoping to start a conversation so they wouldn't all just sit awkwardly while they waited for Steve to come back with the wine. Considering Bucky didn't even remember whether they owned a wine opener, it could take a while.

“I'm good! Busy with work, you know how it his.”

Bucky didn't know how it was, but both him and Clint nodded, prompting her to continue.

“That's why I was late, actually. A colleage of mine needed some files urgently, but had forgotten to ask me for them while I was actually at work. Had to re-boot my computer at home to find them, and then of course he took the opportunity to ask me to look over an e-mail for him. I appreciate that he works longer hours because he's passionate and all, but it would be nice if he didn't force everyone around him to work on the same schedule.”

She shrugged, then took the glass of wine Steve was offering her with a winning smile.

“Anyway, I don't want to be the boring person who only talks about her work for the whole evening. Cheers.”

They all raised their glass and took a sip of their respective drinks.

“What is it that you do, though?” Clint asked Peggy.

“Communication. I work for a human rights organisation, but mostly on the intra-organisation stuff. So it's not that glamourous.”

“It's still pretty interesting,” Steve cut in. “You're doing work that helps people.”

Peggy rolled her eyes, smiling. This seemed to be a conversation they had had before. “Steve here want to make a hero out of me. I keep telling him that my work would be basically the same if I was working for a big corporation but no, he insists on projecting his principles upon me!”

“Hey! That's not true! You told me you had specifically been looking for something non-corporate after finishing your studies! You totally had your principles too!”

Bucky couldn't help smiling. If Peggy was someone Steve could bicker with, it was a good sign.

 

All was set out for the dinner to be one of those nights when all goes so easily right that you wonder how you might have even imagined it could go wrong. They ate and they talked, and Steve, Peggy and Clint drank the wine Clint had brought, which turned out to be some really fancy bottle that Kate might or might not have stolen from her father.

Bucky had been right about Peggy. She was confident and sharp. Her teasing was always warm, though. She seemed like the type of person who didn't take kindness for granted, but also desperately hoped that people would prove her wrong.

Bucky thought of how he would describe the others. Steve was the kind to think that people had to be kind, fundamentally. He had to believe that, if they weren't, there was some way for him to lecture them into it. He had a way of always leaning towards the person who was talking, showing his attentiveness. Although that last characteristic made it really easy to notice when he was angry or disagreed with someone, as he tended to look away from them in such cases.

And then there was Clint. Clint, who seemed happy to let himself be surprised by other people's kindness without ever expecting it, although he also made a point to be as thoughtful to others as he could. Clint, who had this way of looking tired but pleased which made the inside of Bucky's stomach twist. He wasn't one for grand gestures or statements, but he genuinely wanted people to enjoy themselves. He wasn't heroic in the sense of impressive achievements, but maybe more in the sense that he managed to make people feel at home.

“I realise I haven't asked, Clint,” Peggy started, having finished the last of her vegetarian lasagna and enjoying her glass of wine. “But what do you do? Steve and I can't be the only ones with boring work stories to tell!”

“Ah. Yeah, if it's boring stories you want, I've got those. I do translating work, but like... Boring translating. Corporate and all that. Got a friend who owns a big tech company, and they always need someone to translate stuff for their international partners. I also have a couple user's manuals under my belt. Those are the worst.”

Everyone around the table laughed.  
“Okay, but tell them about the non-boring job.”

“Non-boring job?” Steve asked, raising an eyebrow.

Clint groaned. “It's not... It's just... It's weird.”

“It's not weird!” Bucky protested. “It's cool. I think it's cool.”

“Yeah, well, you're weird.”

Bucky shrugged.

Both Pegyy and Steve were looking at them, enjoying the show.

Clint lstarted scratching his neck.“Uh... I do archery? Like, tricks and stuff. Me and a friend share a youtube channel.”

Bucky did a quick search for HawkeyeSquared on his phone, and Peggy and Steve crowded behind him. Clint stayed where he was in front of them, cheeks red from embarrassment.

They put the first video on.

And yes, it was archery. But it was also impressive as heck. Clint took shots in mid-air, or upside down, usually a series of them with moving targets. They watched a second video, where Clint and Kate took a whole series of shots in perfect coordination. Bucky recognised from the loud “Whoooop!” at the end of the video that America must have been the one to shoot the footage.

“Okay, okay, please stop,” Clint begged. “It's super embarrassing to have you watch this stuff when I'm here.”

“Dude, that was amazing!” Bucky remarked.

“Bucky's right,” Peggy agreed. “It's really impressive. Where did you learn to do things like that?”

Clint's blush deepened, thought Bucky wouldn't have thought of that as possible. “I was... I worked in a circus for a while when I was a teenager. That's where I learned. Also where I learned to speak Russian and French.”

“Wow,” Steve whistled. “That's not the kind of life experience we hear about every day.”

Clint shrugged. “Yeah, well. I don't know. It's what I've always known, so it seems pretty normal to me...”

“I guess...” Steve hesitated, taken aback by Clint's defensiveness. “I guess that's true. Sorry, I didn't want to be out of line.”

“It's fine. Sorry. I just don't... It's not a part of my life I like talking about that much.”

Silence followed that statement. Bucky didn't know about Peggy, but he and Steve definitely knew what it was to have periods in your life you preferred to keep locked away. Tension settled across the table, and Clint looked away from Bucky.

He was looking for a way to renew the conversation, but Peggy did it before him, filled with good intentions.

“So how did you guys get together?”

 

Clint and Bucky both tensed up, and failed to reply in an interval of time that would have appeared natural.

“We're not...” Bucky started, vaguely panicking, not knowing how Clint would feel or react. Looking more closely at his own feelings, he realised it wasn't all on Clint's behalf. It was... uncomfortable, for people to assume, for them to put a word on things when Bucky and Clint felt a lot freer without one. It felt invasive. “We're not... together. We're not dating,” he tried to explain through clenched teeth.

“Oh.” Peggy seemed taken aback. “Oh, I'm sorry. I thought... I thought...”

“It's fine,” Clint cut in. His cold and distant tone made both Steve and Peggy turn towards him. “I get it a lot.” He shrugged, faux-casually.

“You... What?” Steve asked, confused and vaguely looking like a kicked puppy. Steve Rogers did not like a fight he was not actively participating, and disliked even more those situations in which he wasn't sure if people were fighting or not.

“You don't have to-” Bucky started, trying to let Clint know he didn't owe anyone an explanation.

“It's fine, I said,” Clint repeated, louder. He sighed, then ran a hand across his face in exasperation. “I'm sorry. Didn't mean to get loud.” He raised his eyes and smiled at Peggy. It was a nice, soft, smile, but one which still made Bucky uncomfortable. “I meant that... it happens a lot. People thinking I'm together with someone. When I'm not. Because I'm not. I never am.”

“What do you...”

Bucky leant against the back of his chair, unconsciously withdrawing himself from the conversation and watching it unfold before him. This felt much too familiar, an echo of his and Clint's first meeting. Bucky had felt hurt, then, without knowing why. He thought he had a better idea now, watching Clint and his self-depricating expression. Bucky was hurt, and angry, on Clint's behalf, because Clint didn't get angry. He just smiled.

“I don't date people,” Clint continued. “Relationships make me uncomfortable, so I just don't do them. Not romantic relationships, anyway. But if you're close to someone, if you kiss them on the lips, or hold their hand in public, or whatever, the first thing anyone assumes is that you're romantically involved. But that's not your fault. I'm sorry I snapped.”

The silence hung heavy all around the table. Bucky felt embarrassed, awkward, and like his mouth had dried up. Of course this would have been one of the reasons Clint was afraid to come. Of course Bucky should have expected something like this. Steve had never pried, because Steve didn't pry when it came to Bucky, because he knew Bucky would say what needed to be said when he was ready to say it. Steve knew that pushing him would only mean pushing him away. But Peggy didn't. And Peggy couldn't have guessed.

“How does that work?” Steve asked, voice soft, trying to be understanding. “For you, I mean. You don't date ever? But you have... relationships?”

“You really don't have to answer, Clint,” Bucky cut in, and Steve shot him a worried look, realising he might have been out of line.

But Clint shrugged him off. “I can choose what questions I do or don't answer on my own, Bucky. I don't need a babysitter. I've been dealing with this shit for far longer than you.”

Bucky didn't reply to that. If Clint didn't want him involved, fine. Bucky was a specialist at not getting involved. He had had years of practice at running away and holding his tongue and selfishly protecting only his own ideas. He had had years to practice silence. Years to build a bubble around himself in which nothing could hurt him, except himself.

So Bucky didn't reply.

“You've got to understand that romance isn't everything in this world. So many things have been attached to romance as if it was logical, and it's just not. Why would you only hold hand with your romantic partner? Why would you only kiss your romantic partner? Hell, people have casual sex all the time. If you can have sex with a complete stranger for a night, why shouldn't you have a committed sexual relationship with a friend, without it being something you only do because you can't find a romantic partner right now?”

The way Clint was talking could almost have been called a rant, if not for the fact that the man appeared extremely calm. He was just making a series of points, voice level throughout.

“So, no. I don't date people. I find the culture of hyperromanticism in which we live honestly disturbing, and it's just not something for me. But I have friends. I have people I love, in my own way, on my own terms. That's how it works for me.”

“Wow,” Peggy said. “Okay. I'm really sorry again, that I assumed. I really didn't know it was a possibility to just... not like anyone. Romantically I mean. I've heard of asexuality but not...”

“Yeah. It's not the same thing.”

“I guess it's just weird to wrap my head around. Considering I have to deal with Steve here who likes multiple people at once, it's a weird opposition.”

She laughed, a bit awkwardly, though she was obviously trying to get the conversation back on a more casual track.

“Cosmic balance,” Clint muttered under his breath.

Bucky heard him, and he could have replied, except he didn't know what to say, or how. He felt stuck, not knowing how to reach out again.

“You wrapped your head around my bullshit fairly easily,” Steve pointed out.

“Yeah, well, what can I say. You have me wrapped around your finger.” She winked at him. There was relief in both their faces under the layer of flirtatiousness.

Together they made their way through a new conversation, as well as what was left of Clint's bottle of wine, and Clint himself relaxed a little and joined them.

Bucky stayed silent through most of it, replying only when someone asked him a question or when Steve sent him a particularly worried look.

And, before he knew it, Peggy was saying something about how lovely an evening it had been, giving Steve a company-appropriate kiss and picking up her jacket.

And then Clint stood up as well, and Bucky found himself moving on automatic mode, following him to the door as Steve started putting things away to give them some privacy.

Clint turned towards Bucky, each on one side of the threshold.

“Look,” Clint sighed. “I'm sorry about what happened. I'm sorry I got defensive. But I feel like it's a bit unfair for you to be mad at me.”

Bucky frowned at him, feeling out of step. He did his best to come back to full awareness and piece together what Clint was actually saying.

“I'm not...” He faltered, then tried again. “I'm not mad at you. I'm not mad because you got defensive. I'm not mad. I'm... If anything...I'm pissed that you didn't. Get defensive. Not pissed at you, just... it's not fair that...”

“What?!” Clint exclaimed, looking confused and possibly even shocked. “You're... You're pissed off because I didn't get defensive?” He raised a hand to his forehead as if to ward off an incoming headache. “Wow. That's fucking rich. That's a new one.” He raised his eyes towards the ceiling, before lowering them and looking straight at Bucky. He raised a finger. “I. Don't. Need. A. Fucking. Babysitter. Bucky.” A movement of his accusing finger punctuated each word. “I can take care of my fucking self and of your fucking friends. Like I said earlier. I've been dealing with this shit for much longer than you have.”

The harshness and volume of Clint's tone seemed to jolt something awake in Bucky.

“That's what you call taking care of yourself?” He replied, just as loudly. A voice in the back of his head reminded him that Steve was just in the kitchen and could probably hear them, but Bucky didn't have the energy or time to think about that. “Letting people drag your life story out of you and make you uncomfortable, just because they don't have bad intentions?”

“I can't believe this.” Clint shook his head. “A fucking reminder, Bucky. My wilingness to share my 'life-story', as you put it, is literally what made us meet. So excuse me for being fucking civil and trying to educate people instead of throwing a fit everytime someone asks me a personal question! I don't have time for that, because it would be a whole fucking lot of fits to throw. I have other things to do with my life.”

And with that he turned away.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last full chapter. A short epilogue will be posted by the end of the week and it will probably feature a very weepy message on my part.

Bucky found himself standing in front of Clint's apartment building. In the rain, because the universe hated him. He pressed the doorbell for the third time. He knew the intercom was broken from the last time he had come here, which was why he had sent Clint a text telling him he was on his way. Clint could have replied that he wasn't home, but he hadn't, which Bucky had taken as a sign that he was actually at his flat even though unwilling to reply.

He was about to press the button a fourth time when he heard a voice calling his name.

He took a step back and looked up, and recognised Kate looking down at him from the window of Clint's kitchen.

“I'm sorry,” Kate shouted. “He says he wants you to leave. And to stop ringing the doorbell because he's hungover as fuck and it's making his headache worse.” She turned back towards the inside of the flat for a second. “He's also telling me not to shout so loudly but since he's making me talk to you from here because he's too grumpy to deal with his feelings, I don't care.” She turned around again. “He just took out his hearing aids. What a child.”

Bucky was craning his neck and feeling quite in awe of Kate's energy even as her long black hair started gathering rain. Though that did not help him come up with a response, especially as Kate leaned against the window ledge, making herself more comfortable.

“I just want to talk to him,” Bucky finally shouted back. “We had a fight yesterday and... I just want to talk to him. I want to understand and...”

“Apologize?” Kate asks, tone managing to be soft despite the fact that she was literally shouting at him.

Bucky hesitates for a second. “I'm not sure. I don't think I understand exactly what went wrong, so I don't know if I have to apologize or not.”

He saw Kate nod thoughtfully then walk back into the appartment. Bucky guessed that she couldn't just talk with Clint from the window anymore, since she would need to force him to watch her signs to make herself understood.

For two minutes, Bucky awkwardly stood there, drenched, the rainwater constantly falling into his eyes and blurring his sight. At least he felt awake now, contrary to when he had woken up from his night of bad sleep. Bucky was really hoping none of Clint's neighbours was here, because he was certain the scene was quite a sight.

Kate came back to the window, beaming. “I am literally the best at life, and you owe me. I'll buzz you in.”

Bucky let out a sigh of relief. “Thanks, Kate!”

He took the two steps to the front door and waited for the sound of the buzzer activating, quickly pushing in. His long hair was sticking uncomfortably to one side of his face and dripping everywhere, but he couldn't bring himself to care too much. Instead he quickly started the climb towards Clint's appartment.

Kate was waiting for him by the door wearing a lavender sweater and pyjama bottoms.

“Look for the huge lump on the sofa, and you'll find Clint. I'm gonna take a walk to give you some privacy, but I _will_ be back in fifteen minutes. So don't ruin this. Don't ruin him. I will kick your ass then ask my girlfriend to kick it again.”

Bucky nodded, almost solemn. He had heard stories about America's ass-kicking. That girl could be terrifying.

Kate stopped while walking past him, putting a hand on his shoulder. “You can do this.”

And then she left, in all of her pyjama-clad glory.

 

Bucky stepped inside the apartment proper, softly closing the door behind him.

“Kate is a traitor,” Clint mumbled as Bucky sat down on the arm of his couch, as far away as he could from Clint.

“I just want to talk to you,” Bucky said.

There was no response from Clint, who was really not much more than a mop of blond hair and two eyes peeking out of a blanket lump.

“I'm sorry. Not about what I said. I don't...” Bucky sighed. “I don't actually know what I said wrong that made you go off like that. But I'm sorry about what happened.”

There was a moment of silence, and when Bucky didn't start talking again, Clint just said “Okay.”

He wasn't gonna make it easy, then.

“I thought I was looking out for you. I get that... that you may have felt patronized. But that wasn't my point at all.” He tried to remember Clint's exact words. _You're pissed off because I_ didn't _get defensive?_ “I wasn't even angry. Not really. Not at you. I was... I don't know. I felt responsible. I felt bad, that you had to deal with Peggy like that... That you had been anxious about coming, and that I had told you it would all be okay even though I was also scared, and then that that happened. And I was... I was hurt. I knew it wasn't about me. It wasn't my problem. But it still hurt. I don't know.”

“You stopped talking,” Clint said, still tense under his blanket.

Bucky crossed one arm over his chest, fiddling with the fabric of his shirt.

“I know. I... I get like that. Sometimes. Kind of... dissociate. Like... like everthing is distant. A step off.”

“Why?”

“Why what? Why do I dissociate? Because that's a-”

“No, no. Why did you dissociate this time. What triggered it?”

“I told you. I felt... bad.” It wasn't the word. It wasn't enough. It wasn't the good answer, and Bucky was trying, he was looking for something better to say, but he couldn't.

Clint mumbled something that he didn't catch.

“What did you say?”

“It wasn't your place. It wasn't your place, and it wasn't your problem. It wasn't your right to get hurt or angry on my behalf.”

“It's only because I care!” Bucky replied, trying to keep his voice calm even if he could feel the same panicked and defensive confusion he had experienced the night before rise up inside of him.

“I'm not your futzing responsibility.” Clint said, looking straight ahead of him and not at Bucky.

“You're my friend!” Bucky's voice wavered a bit. “We're... close. I... This is not about me feeling like I own any part of you, this isn't about propriety. I care about you. Of course I don't want you to feel hurt. Or invaded. I can't choose not to care about that.”

“I wasn't hurt!” Clint said, raising his voice a little and pulling the blanket off his face. “You were. That's always what happens. I try to deal with my own futzing problems, but other people still get hurt. I let them get close, and they get hurt. You wouldn't have thought twice about Peggy's comments before meeting me, and now they caused you to fucking _dissociate_ at a dinner table.”

_What..._ Bucky had trouble following Clint's train of thought and his changes in emotions.

“That's not... That's not your fault! I might not have reacted to what Peggy said before meeting you, sure. I probably wouldn't have. That doesn't mean it wasn't fucked up. That doesn't mean I regret that you opened my eyes about that. Sure, I could have lived unaware of how bullshit it is to think that every important relationship is romantic. Maybe that would have been easier! I don't know. Maybe I wouldn't ever have realised it on my own, or maybe I would have. But I don't regret it. How is anything going to change if everyone chooses to keep their head in the ground?”

“Change?” Clint asked, incredulous. “Who said anything about change? I'm not here to change the futzing world. I just want to live my life. That's literally all I'm asking for.”

“You...” Bucky felt slow. Had it always been this difficult to understand people? Was it just more difficult _now_? Or was it just because he hadn't tried to make new connections in so long, not connections that really mattered, nothing on the level of what he had with Steve? “You say you don't want people to get hurt. You say you don't want _me_ to get hurt. But what about you? Why do you make it sound like it's so selfish for me to care about what people say to you? How is it any different? Why should you get hurt instead of me?”

“I wasn't hurt. I told you I wasn't hurt.”

“Maybe not yesterday!” Bucky said, raising his voice and gesturing with his hands. “You tell me you didn't care about what Peggy said, and fine, I'll take your word for it. But you must have been hurt before. At some point. You must have been angry at some point.”

“You want to know the truth?” Clint asked, finally lowering the blanket to his hips and turning to face Bucky. “For real? Well I am angry. I'm angry all the freaking time. I've been angry for years and it hasn't gotten me anywhere except for the hospital. You think I let people say anything they want because I don't have any self-respect or something? That's not _fucking_ it. The truth is, I respect myself enough not to let my anger become one more thing people can hate about me.”

“That's...”

“No, let me finish. I've been at this for years. Trying to have people see something in me that's not just me being deaf, me being an orphan, me being a way to make money or the weird queer who wants to spend his life alone. I don't want to ruin all I've built to become the angry guy. That's no trade at all. You know why we call pride a fucking celebration? Because nobody likes an angry queer. That's why we show up with glitters and feathers, and not political slogans. Because if we did people might realise they still hate us just enough to beat us with a stick. So all of this anger, this hurt as you call it? It's mine. I've fought to keep it. You don't get to take it away.”

Bucky felt like it was pointless to argue this point. He could repeat endlessly that pain wasn't meant to be carried alone, that this is what friends were for, but he didn't think it would have any effect.

“What if I've got anger of my own? Don't you think I could be angry, not just on your behalf but because the world is generally unfair? Or do you have a monopoly on all the anger in the world?”

“That's not...”

“I don't know, Clint. I get that I fucked up. That I didn't communicate properly, or whatever. But this shit is hard for me. You're the first person I actually _tried_ to get close to since... since I joined the army and nearly got myself killed. So sometimes I don't know how to say things. That's just the way it is. But I've been trying to _fix things_ for the last ten minutes, and Kate promised to kick my ass in five, so just... I don't know. I want to know if you want to fix this too.”

“Fuck.” Clint lowered his head, putting his hands over it. “Fuck. I didn't mean for it to get this way.” He looked up. “You've got to believe me, Bucky. I didn't mean for it to get this way. I know it's stupid. I know it doesn't make sense for me to be this...” He sighed.

Bucky wanted to reach out, to run a hand through his hair like he used to do to Steve when he still had long hair, when he was too sick to go to school and ashamed that Bucky had to bring him his notes.

And then he did. He reached out towards Clint. He put a hand over the bunched up blanket on his knees and started playing with the fabric, his touch there but also easy to brush away.

“It's easier not to let people in.” Clint ended up admitting. “If I fuck up- _When_ I fuck up, at least it's done, then. People leave, and I don't have to worry about hurting them anymore. I don't have to worry about not being enough, about holding them back. They're gone, and they're free, and I'm back at dealing with myself again. I've gotten good at that. Dealing with myself. Or at least decent enough.”

“Why would I want to leave? We had one fight. We misunderstood each other and had one fight. Do you know how many fights I've had with Steve? There were weeks when it felt like fighting was all we were doing.”

“Because I'm not enough. Because I'm never enough. It's really pathetic, Bucky, but I'm one of those people that are made to be left behind.”

The worst thing wasn't the words he had just said, though those were bad enough. No, for Bucky, the worst thing was that Clint smiled as he said them.

“That's bullshit,” a voice interrupted.

Clint and Bucky turned over the back of the couch to stare at Kate, who was drinking some kind of frappuccino, letting her hair drip all over the floor, and looking unimpressed.

“That's futzing bullshit and you would know it if you opened your eyes for one futzing second.” She had a way of seeming collected and threatening all at once that made Bucky feel awed. “I'm here. I've been here for years. I've dealt with everything there was to deal with, I've seen you at some serious lows, dude.” She took a sip of her drink. “And I'm still here. So stop the bullshit about being made to be left behind. It's just that people are too dumb to see through your game when you try to push them away.”

“You can't just call everyone dumb for realising I'm an asshole and trying to find something better!”

“Sure I can,” Kate replied vindicatively. “Because you're not an asshole.”

“You call me that all the time!” Clint protested.

Bucky was starting to feel like a third wheel in the argument, but at the same time he was grateful that Kate had managed to pull Clint out of his coldness. An angry Clint seemed somehow more natural than one pretending he didn't feel anything.

“I call you that when you're _being_ an asshole. But you're not one in, like, your insides. Fundamentally. Whatever. You're actually a genuinely decent person. You let me squat your flat and even keep cereals stocked in a cupboard for me. You bought a building just so your neighbours wouldn't be evicted. Hell, even Lucky is a stray you picked up when anyone else would have left him to die!”

“That's nothing.”

“It's not futzing nothing, Clint! You do all these things, you always try to be such a good person! And then you fuck up. Sure! You've fucked up a few times, maybe even a lot of times. Newsflash. Everyone does. But at least you try to be something else than your fuck ups. At least you try to get back up. Some people would just wallow in their fucked-upness, and not even _try_ anything else. You don't.”

“That's a low bar you're setting.”

Kate groaned, running a hand through her hair and clenching her fist. “You know what's the one thing I can't stand about you? It's this. It's this pushing-people-away thing. Because you don't actually want people to leave. You try to convince yourself that you do, but you don't, not really. It's all some kind of stupid self-punishment. You think you've done something bad, so you think you deserve to be left alone, and so you force people to leave. But you're punishing them, not you. You're burning bridges and telling them it's so they won't have to do it themselves. But you're not letting them decide for themselves if they actually want to cross the futzing river or not. And that's what I call being an asshole.”

Clint drew his knees up and hugged them to himself, clearly feeling the edge of truth in Kate's words and not liking it. There was a small silence as she took her breath back and Bucky started fidgeting a bit, unsure if he was supposed to leave or not.

Before he could make any decisive movement, though, she stopped him. “I'm not done. Because god help me for once I have a chance to stop this before it all goes to shit. This one-” She pointed at Bucky with her index finger. “You keep. I don't care what happened last night. If he's here right now he clearly wants to stay, so as long as he does, you keep him. Non-negotiable.”

“That's not how this work, Kate,” Clint replied.

“Did I futzing stutter?”

Bucky couldn't help but smile. Kate Bishop was truly a hurricane of a human, a force of nature to be reckoned with. He was glad that Clint had her in his life. He also wondered what would happen were she ever to meet Steve, and decided that this was a dangerous path to tread.

When there was no more response from Clint, Kate nodded to herself. “Okay. Good. Now. I can see you still haven't finished your heart-to-heart, so I'll give you some more time because I am very generous.”

“This isn't even your flat, we don't need your permission to-”

Kate ignored her friend and went on. “But before that, I'm going to get dressed. Because while I can rock the just-out-of-bed-haven't-changed-yet look to go to the local coffee shop, I am now drenched and would appreciate not to catch pneumonia.” And with that she left the room and went inside Clint's bedroom, droplets of water from her hair trailing behind her.

“So,” Bucky started, wanting to break the silence but not actually knowing what to say.

Clint sighed. “So.”

“I don't want to leave.”

Clint let his head drop to the back of the couch, covering his eyes with one hand. “Fuck.”

Bucky didn't quite know what to say to that.

“Maybe I believe you,” Clint finally continued. “That you don't want to leave. But that doesn't mean you won't. It doesn't mean you won't find something else. Something that's actually good for you, instead of my bullshit. And then... well. How could I blame you, right?”

“By _something_ , you mean _someone_ , right?”

Clint chuckled darkly. “Yeah. That's usually how it goes.”

“I can't promise anything,” Bucky said, and the words felt bitter and wrong in his mouth. Not enough, but true. “Obviously I can't promise that I won't ever leave you. But I don't want to. And I'm not _looking_ to replace you. Us. Anything. I like you. And I like what we've got. And I want to keep it. Whatever happens in the future, you've got to believe that that's true now. And that I want it to stay true.”

He raised his hand off Clint's knee and pulled it back to himself, giving the other man more space as he prepared his question.

“Has it happened often? People leaving you?”

Clint took his time to respond. “A few times. Enough times.”

“What happened?”

The question was vague. Vague enough to let Clint choose how many details he was willing to give away. Vague enough for him to say nothing, if he really believed that Bucky was out of line once again.

“They all left. Some because they'd found a girlfriend, or a boyfriend. Others because I just wasn't enough. Because I was too much work. Most of them because I ended up pushing them away. Because they felt too close and too important and it felt wrong and I was scared and I thought I would ruin them. Because if they were gonna leave anyway, it might as well be before any of us got too involved. It might as well be while we still have a chance not to be hurt by it.”

“If your goal was not to get hurt, you did a pretty poor job of it.”

Clint started laughing, before the sound turned into a sob. “Didn't I?”

There was no denying it, not when Bucky had found him hidden under a blanket and refusing to open the door, not when Bucky had seen the worry in Kate's eyes.

“That's what I'm saying, you know?” Clint was rubbing at his eyes, as if he could dry them before the tears had even fallen. “I fuck up. I always fuck up. I can barely deal with my own shit, why would anyone take it upon themselves to care about it too?”

“I ask myself the same thing all the time,” Bucky replied. Thoughtlessly, he started rubbing his thumb against the wrist joint of his prosthesis. “I...” He hesitated, but, _fuck_ , if they were having a heart-to-heart, might as well go all the way. “I'm a burden for Steve. I mean, objectively speaking. He would kick my ass if he knew I had said that. And then he would apologize for it. But objectively speaking... I can't work. I don't really have any hobby. I just hang around the flat, cleaning stuff and cooking, and let him invite me to hang-outs with his other friends. I get... benefits. For my time in the army and the injury. But it's not much. A lot of it goes into therapy. So yeah.”

Clint was looking at him now, obviously sorry though nice enough not to actually say it out loud. Bucky hated when people apologized for something that had nothing to do with them. He knew they were trying to be nice, but he couldn't help feeling pissed off by it. Even if it was true, even if people really _were_ sorry, it felt wrong to say.

“Objectively speaking, I'm useless. But that doesn't mean anything, to Steve. He keeps telling me that it doesn't mean anything. And obviously it was hard at first. I didn't... I didn't want to rely on someone. But I couldn't not, you know? And some bad stuff had happened between us after I'd left for the army, but he forgave me. I was here, broken, unwilling to be helped, ruining his life, and the first thing he did was forgive me.”

Bucky stayed quiet for a few seconds, gathering his thoughts. It was still difficult to look back on that time when he barely talked, barely got out of bed. Realising that he was a stranger to his family, that his best friend was a stranger to him. But Steve had forced him to get up. He had dragged Bucky kicking and screaming into his life.

“What I mean to say is... That's not how it works. Friendship. Relationships. Anything. People who love you, they don't care if you're objectively good for them or not. The only thing that matters is that they _do_ love you, even if you don't know why and even if _they_ don't know why, and that's good enough. You can't really do anything about the fact that you love someone. Pushing people away for no good reason won't help you or them. It will just hurt everyone.”

Clint sighed, body relaxing slightly. “Yeah. Okay.”

“Okay?” Bucky asked, surprised. He hadn't believed it would be as easy as that. Words had this way of never being enough, usually. He'd talked for days with his therapist now, and it never felt like it was enough. Even the things that rung like the purest truth in one moment would lose their meaning the next second.

“Okay. I'm not... I'm like you. I won't make promises I can't keep. So I won't promise I'm never going to pull this shit again.” He chuckled darkly. “I'm _probably_ gonna pull this shit again at some point. But... you should call me out on it. And I'll try to be better.”

“Okay.”

“Okay. Shit.” Clint let out a short laugh. “We're like the futzing _Fault in our Stars_. I can't believe this.”

Bucky smiled too. “So I'm forgiven?”

Clint shrugged. “I don't think I ever had a good reason to be mad at you. Just... oh god this is gonna sound so weird. Sorry. Just tell me if you ever fall in love with someone? That's... That's the main reason people end up leaving.”

“Okay,” Bucky said. “I'll do that. I'm not... I'm not looking, if that's something you're worried about. It's not really something that's been on my mind at all these past few months.”

“Cool. That's good.” There was a slight pause. “I mean, if you're okay with it. It's not... it's good for me but only if it's not bothering you. I didn't mean...”

Bucky couldn't help but smile. “It's fine, Clint. I'm fine. I'm okay. I don't miss it. I've got you right now, I've got Steve. I have friends. That's enough. It's good.”

“Okay.”

They leaned towards each other then, resting their foreheads against the other's.

And maybe Kate snapped a picture on her phone after silently creeping back into the living-room.

Maybe.


	14. Epilogue

Jessica's association was throwing another party, and they had all come to show their support and have a nice time. Because that's what friends were for.

It was a weird feeling for Bucky and Clint to be back in the same environment but together this time, instead of just spying on each other's conversations. Their first meeting felt like it had been more than mere months away. It felt a little bit like it had happened to other people than them.

Peggy was there with them too, this time, and she and Sam quickly got competitive about dancing. They took turns with Steve for a while, but he soon had to beg for a break, parched and unsteady on his feet after so much exercise. It started a whole debate, Sam and Peggy arguing that they couldn't dance _together_ if it was to be a competition. When they asked him, Clint decreted that he didn't dance _at all_ and that the only way to drag him on a dance-floor would be in a coffin. America said that she would only dance to hip-hop, and Kate that she could only do ballet.

In the end, Bucky started dancing with Sam, while Natasha grudgingly accepted to be Peggy's partner until Jessica's shift was over.

Bucky felt Clint's eyes on him as he and Sam danced, and that too felt both strange and familiar, now that it wasn't the appraising gaze of a stranger he could feel, but the admiring look of someone who knew him.

 

They had made it work, somehow, in the end. The disastrous dinner with Peggy was three months in the past, now. They had found a way to patch things up. Depending on the day, they ocillated between avoiding the subject altogether and having long conversations about the meaning of their relationship, how it related to their other friendship, and about their respective issues in general. They had grown closer together again, and Clint had come to Bucky's flat one evening with a small bouquet of flowers and a bottle of wine. The latter he had given to Steve by way of apology.

And then both of them had gotten drunk on it, under the part-joyful, part-horrified gaze of Bucky.

 

Sam had called Steve back, after having talked about it with Bucky again. He had told Steve that he was willing to try. That he had never been in this situation before and didn't really know whether he would get jealous or not, whether he could make it work. He told Steve that, despite that, he trusted him, trusted that Steve was doing what he thought was best, and that he wouldn't hurt any of them on purpose.

Bucky had rarely seen Steve as giddy as he had been by the end of that particular phone call. Although his excitment before and after he and Sam's first date had perhaps been even cuter.

And then Peggy had asked to meet Sam, if he was okay with it, and Sam had actually admitted that he had been thinking of asking the same thing, and so they organized a dinner at the flat, with Bucky there to act as buffer and moral support.

They hadn't needed a lot of moral support when it turned out that Peggy and Sam got on really well, quickly teaming up against Steve when he refused to admit any of his flaws.

 

Of course, the story told this way only included the pretty parts. It didn't include Clint cancelling a movie night because Kate had showed up crying at his apartment. It didn't include Bucky begging Clint to come over to his and Steve's place beause he was too scared to take the bus on his own. It didn't include Steve breaking down because he was spending so much time with either Peggy or Sam that he didn't have any for _himself_ anymore.

Those parts were less pretty. But they were there. And they made the dancing, the laughter and the shared jokes better. They made them feel _right,_ because they were hard-earned.

 

Bucky sat back down next to Clint after having shared a few dances with Sam, and Clint wordlessly handed him a bottle of lemonade.

“So, who won?” Bucky asked, smiling.

“We can't ask Clint,” Peggy protested.

“He's definitely biased,” Natasha acknowledged.

“Steve, then.” They all turned towards him.

“I can't choose. You all dance very well.”

All of the dancers rolled their eyes. They should have expected the sappy answer, coming from Steve. Sam ran a hand through the blond's hair. “You're lucky you're cute, Rogers. Because you're useless.”

“Yeah, well, you love me,” Steve pointed out, batting his hand away before taking it into his.

“I sure do.”

Bucky smiled at the sight, then felt Clint nuzzle into his shoulder. He smiled wider.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end. HOLY SHIT. It's the end.
> 
> This is my biggest finished project EVER and it has been a wild ride. I started publishing the fic a year ago for Aggressively Arospec Week 2017, and I'm so happy to be posting the final chapter for the same event this year.
> 
> This fic has come to mean a lot to me. A lot of stuff in it is quite personal, because what better coping mechanism than to project stuff onto fictional characters, am I right? But this just means it has been all the more heartwarming to see other people relate to it.
> 
> Thank you for all the kudo's, the comments and bookmarks. I don't know if I would have ever have gone this far without all of your support.
> 
> It's really weird to close up this fic, because there are SO MANY things about the characters and their stories I haven't told you. I don't know if I ever will, but the thought is nice.
> 
> Anyway, before I blabber on and start crying, I'm gonna stop and add just one more thing:
> 
> THANK YOU. You rule ;)


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